


Closing the Distance

by Zairielon



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Cute, Drama & Romance, Feel-good, First Kiss, Florida, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Gay, Idiots in Love, Insecurity, Internal Conflict, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Original Character(s), Pining, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, dreamnotfound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 48,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25135198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zairielon/pseuds/Zairielon
Summary: After years of waiting on both their parts, George is finally flying out to Florida to spend a whole month with Clay. Absolutely anything could happen, and absolutely anything will happen. But only one thing really matters to them. They get to be together in person.They just have to keep their growing feelings for each other under control.Occasional strong language.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 255
Kudos: 1697





	1. The Man in the Paper Plate Mask

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! A quick disclaimer that this fic was written entirely for fun. I'm taking the personas that George and Dream use in their videos/streams and creating a story with those characters. George's and Dream's personal lives are their own, and if they express any discomfort with being shipped, I will take this story down. Their feelings are vastly more important than this little project of mine.
> 
> Now that that's out of the way, welcome! This will only be updated when I have chapters that I'm really happy with, so god knows how long it'll take to finish lol. But it will be finished!
> 
> Enjoy!

At first, George wasn't sure that he'd heard Dream right.

“What'd you say, Dream?” he asked hesitantly. After all, it wasn't every day that his best friend (who he'd never actually seen), said-

“Do you wanna fly out here?” Dream repeated. He sounded just as eager as the first time he'd asked, and George was starting to think that it was genuine excitement. “C'mon, George, it'd be fun!”

Dream trailed off into a whine, and George smiled at the familiar mannerism.

“It would be fun,” he agreed. Dream made the most adorable noise of triumph that George had ever heard, and his concentration waned. He hurried into his questions to make sure that he actually asked them. “Okay, I definitely want to do this, just... let me make sure I understand.” Dream hummed, which was enough of a “go ahead” for George. “You're willing to fly me out to Florida and let me crash at your place for a whole month? _And_ feed me, on top of everything else?”

“Yup!” Dream said. “Don't worry about money, okay? I've got you covered. And we can still stream and make videos while you're here!”

George laughed at the thought. “How the hell would that work?” he asked. “Our collabs are our most popular videos just by themselves. How do you think our fans are going to react when we're next to each other while we're filming? It's not like we'll be able to hide it, our headsets are going to pick up both our voices. We'd have to use one mic.”

The call was quiet for a moment.

“They'll get used to it,” Dream decided. “And if they act weird, they can go to hell.”

“Dream,” George chided.

“I'm serious! Look, I don't care about what 'our fans' think. I just want to see you.”

George smiled. It was a fond smile, one he'd gotten used to wearing whenever he and Dream called each other. The other man just brought a smile to his face. George didn't know how else to describe it. Jesus, what was it going to be like when Dream could see him? Would Dream think he was an idiot?

“I want to see you, too,” George said. He plastered a teasing smile on his face so that he would sound normal. “It's getting annoying to not know what my best friend looks like, _especially_ since Nick already does. I've never even seen a picture of you.” Dream gasped dramatically, and George snickered. “My answer is yes, Dream. I'd love to fly out to Florida. _Your_ treat.”

“Yes!” Dream crowed.

George couldn't help but giggle at his friend's excitement. “Let's figure out dates. I don't want this to be put off for, like, years. Uhm... I'm free all this month.” George barely managed to bite back what appeared on the tip of his tongue. _I really want to see you, Dream_.

Speaking of not saying things, George would have to dial back his usual teasing and affection. Just a little bit, until he got comfortable around Dream. Because if Dream returned the teasing and affection, as he usually did, George wouldn't have a computer screen to save him from embarrassment. A blushing mess was not the impression George wanted to give his best friend when they first met.

“I need to get you out here as soon as possible,” Dream muttered. The sound of keys clacking entered George's headphones. “How does... the day after tomorrow work?”

George coughed on the sip of water he'd taken. “What?” he spluttered. “That gives me no time!”

“So?” Dream shot back. “You just said that you're free this month! This is a perfect time!”

George hesitated. He'd only protested because it seemed so sudden. But God knew that he wanted to meet Dream as soon as humanely possible. He'd wanted to see Dream in person for years. And... well... there wasn't any real downside to flying out to Florida so soon.

Fuck it.

“Get me a window seat,” George ordered. For the third time in as many minutes, Dream howled like he'd just won the lottery. George didn't even bother to wipe the goofy face off his face. He could never stop smiling when it came to Dream. “I'm hanging up now,” he chuckled. “I need to film a video so I can upload something while I'm settling in with you.”

Dream honest-to-god giggled, and George's heart did a weird stutter in his chest.

“Whatever you say!” Dream chirped. “Later!”

And with that, the other man hung up. George was left staring at a blank screen, but he didn't move for several seconds. His thoughts were glued several thousand miles away. In a couple of days, he would finally see the face that went with Dream's beautiful voice.

George stood from his chair and left the room, already making a mental list of what he'd have to pack. He didn't even notice the correction that he made to his own thoughts.

The face that went with Dream's ~~beautiful~~ voice.

——————

Clay was, in most definitions of the word, delirious. For the past half an hour, he'd been dancing around his apartment and singing at the top of his lungs. Did he care if anyone saw him or heard him? No. Did he care if he was missing calls or otherwise urgent messages? No. He couldn't give less of a shit. The only person that mattered would be in his apartment in two short days.

“It's happening!” Clay shouted to his empty living room. The living room said nothing in reply, and somehow, that just made Clay more excited. He cackled into the silence and launched himself onto his couch.

How long had he wanted to drag George out to Florida? Months, maybe even years. And it was finally happening. He'd _finally_ get to see the Brit.

Clay sighed happily and gazed up at the ceiling. He knew that he couldn't come up with an entire month's worth of activities, but Clay had to give George a tour of the city! They did have a month together, after all.

A whole month.

Just like that, Clay's adrenaline dissolved from his body. Nerves exploded to life in his stomach as the reality of what he'd committed himself to sank in.

What if he had some irritating mannerisms or frustrating personality traits that George hated? They'd agreed that George was staying with Clay for a full month, but if the Brit couldn't stand him... Clay would have to let him go home early. And that... that felt like a punch to the gut.

“No!” Clay shouted. He sat up and pressed his hands into his eyes, frustrated. He was acting stupid. If Nick was coming to see him, Clay wouldn't be nervous in the slightest. George was no different. Well, okay, George _was_ different from Nick, but in a good way! George was Clay's best friend. There was no way that they wouldn't hit it off in person.

Negative thoughts subdued, Clay cast a quick look around his apartment. It wasn't going to be empty for much longer.

Patches suddenly jumped onto Clay's lap. She stared up at him, eyes wide and full of concern. It was like she was trying to figure out what had made her human so excited. Clay chuckled at his cat's confusion and petted her on the head.

“I'm meeting George, Patch,” he said softly. Clay was afraid that if he said it too loudly, he would jinx it. “He's going to stay with us.”

Patches nuzzled his hand. “Mrrp,” she said, settling down on his lap.

Clay beamed at the contented cat. God, he couldn't wait.

——————

After waiting years to broach the topic of visiting each other, George had thought that it would be easy to wait two more days. He was wrong. Those two days were no less than an eternity.

George's plane ticket taunted him from his kitchen counter. It killed him a little more each time he passed it. George desperately needed time to move by faster, for the minutes on his phone to change quicker.

Clearly, all the willpower in the world wouldn't make the world spin faster, so George dove into his work. Recording and editing a simple video took one day. Setting a date so that the video would upload while George was on the plane took the next morning. Eating a hurried breakfast, then packing his bags took him to late afternoon, at which point George had a nervous breakdown. But he quickly picked himself up and repacked his bags. He still didn't feel prepared.

On the morning of his flight, George woke up a half an hour before his alarm even went off. He was up and out of bed before his brain was fully awake. George moved on instinct, running on frenzied emotion and adrenaline and the burning desire to see Dream _now_.

Within another half an hour, George locked the door to his apartment and left the complex.

 _I'm really doing it,_ he thought, hailing a cab.

 _I'm really doing it,_ he thought, paying the cab driver and clambering out of the car.

 _ **I'm really doing it,**_ he thought, staring at the boarding gate for his plane.

George couldn't resist any longer. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and took two pictures of the airport around him. He sent both to Dream, following them up with a short text. _I'm coming as fast as I can!_

Once he had settled into his seat, George put on his headphones and relaxed into his music. I _t's only a nine-hour flight,_ he told himself. _Only nine hours_. Dream had booked him the earliest flight out of the airport, which was at 8 am. So, if luck was on his side, George would be in Florida by 5 pm.

Wait, that wasn't how it worked. George scrunched up his face as he thought. He knew that London was ahead of Florida by five hours, he had to deal with the time difference whenever he and Dream filmed together. Since it was 8 am where he was, in Florida, it was 3 am. So, nine hours from that was... 11 o'clock?

George grimaced. Regardless of the exact time, the jet lag was going to be brutal. But that didn't matter. He was on his way to Dream.

Halfway through the flight, George realized that he was at a window seat, and a smile split his face. How Dream had managed to get a window seat on such short notice was beyond him. But it only made him want the plane to go faster.

Nine and a half hours later, George was released from the plane. His legs were wobbly from sitting so long, but that didn't stop him from grabbing his carry-on and throwing himself down the stairs. As soon as George left the plane, he was blasted in the face by frigid air conditioning. That made him a little nervous. Surely Florida's weather couldn't be terrible enough to warrant such intense air conditioning.

Right?

George's phone pinged, breaking him from his thoughts. He pulled the device from his pocket, and his heart lit up upon seeing two texts from Dream.

The first was a response to George's earlier pictures. _hurry!!!!!!!_ The second was instructions. _I'm parked outside, blue Honda Accord. Hurry up!!!!!!_

Fresh enthusiasm flooded George's veins. He took off into the airport with a big grin on his face. He found his luggage within a couple of minutes and headed for the exits. For a moment, George hesitated. He had absolutely no idea what a blue Honda Accord looked like. He barely knew what blue looked like, and even that might be screwed up because of America's brighter colors.

Then George exited the airport, and he found himself faced with another problem. The most oppressive air that George had ever tried to breathe entered his lungs. For a couple of seconds, he gasped for oxygen that wasn't forthcoming. Then his lungs adjusted, and he could breathe normally again. But while he'd been suffering, a new noise had joined the cacophony of airport chatter - a loud, wheezing laugh.

“Dream!” George called, entirely out of habit.

Nothing happened, and George was suddenly terrified that he'd somehow messed up. Then a familiar voice rang out from down the road.

“George!”

George followed the voice without hesitation. The crowds parted to reveal a tall, lean man standing near a blue car. If his voice hadn't been enough to identify him, he was wearing a white paper plate as a mask, complete with a sloppy black smile and two dots for eyes. Just like his Minecraft skin.

“You've got to be joking,” George laughed. He was so caught up with the mask that he completely missed the thought process that flew through his head.

_Dream is really tall. That's annoying. God, he looks so fit. He must work out a lot._

“You cannot wear that the whole time I'm here, okay?” George continued. He waved a hand at Dream's mask. Even with it covering the other man's face, he could sense Dream's smug grin. “No, you know what? I don't even care.”

Fueled by giddy excitement and far too many years of longing, George dropped his bags and threw his arms around the man before him. Dream instantly returned the hug, squeezing George tightly. George's heart soared, and if Dream hadn't been holding him, he might have just collapsed into a puddle of happiness.

Far too soon, Dream released George from the hug. The taller man put one finger under the edge of his mask and lifted it, fully revealing his face.

“Hey,” Dream said, a crooked smile dancing on his face.

George's heart fell out of his chest.

Dream was drop-dead gorgeous. George had seen his fair share of beautiful men, even dated some of them, but Dream was on a whole new level. He had dirty blond hair that was perfectly windswept, despite there being no wind. His skin was tanned and smooth, dotted by an occasional patch of freckles. And his eyes... god, his eyes. They were the brightest things that George had ever seen. He knew that he wasn't seeing the actual color of Dream's eyes, but he didn't care. They were Dream's eyes. And they were stunning. Everything about the man was stunning.

 _Fuck, this wasn't part of the plan,_ George thought anxiously. _He wasn't supposed to look this good._

Dream's crooked grin changed into a softer smile, and he pulled George into another hug. “It's great to see you,” he said quietly. “You have no idea.”

George's throat turned to putty. What was he supposed to say to that? He didn't even understand what was happening to him! Dream was... perfect. And now, George was being swamped by feelings that were uncomfortably similar to that of a crush.

But he had to talk, he had to say something! George opened his mouth to form words, but nothing came out. He was choking on a ball of emotion that had suddenly wedged itself in his throat. Fortunately for him, Dream seemed to take his silence as exhaustion, and the taller man exploded out of their hug.

“Let's get out of here!” Dream said excitedly. He grabbed George's bags and hurried around to the trunk of his car.

That finally shook George out of his lovestruck stupor. Well, he didn't think it was lovestruck stupor. But the little voice inside his head called it lovestruck stupor, and given that George had just acted like an idiot, he was inclined to agree. The best course of action would be to pretend that nothing had happened and move on.

“That would be awesome,” George called, approaching Dream's car. “I'm sure the jet lag will hit me soon. How the hell is it only noon here? Feels like the middle of the night.”

Dream laughed and stepped into his car. George happily followed suit, sighing in relief as air conditioning hit his sweaty skin. Five minutes in Florida, and he was already melting. George gazed out the window as Dream pulled them into traffic. He tried not to think about the fact that he was, A) on the wrong side of the car, and B) on the wrong side of the road. Neither would be good for his mental health.

“It's gonna be a half an hour drive to my place,” Dream said. “Do you want to get something to eat, or just go home?”

George smiled a little. Home. He was going to be calling Dream's apartment “home” for a while, wasn't he? “I want to settle in before I do anything else,” he decided. “Maybe take a nap. I don't want to pass out if we go out later.”

“Home it is!” Dream agreed cheerfully.

They were quiet for a few minutes, as if they were both absorbing the fact that the other was next to them. At least, that's what George was doing. He was still a little too shell-shocked to behave “normally.”

Suddenly, Dream pressed a button on the car's control panel, and the radio blared to life. George jumped at the loud noise, but it instantly became an icebreaker for the weird tension that had fallen over the car. The two of them sang along to whatever was on the radio - George tripping over the lines and Dream wheezing instead of singing. It felt natural.

Within a couple of minutes, George had relaxed considerably. He shot Dream a happy smile and peered out the window. He had to get an idea about what the scenery was like, so he wouldn't seem like a tourist later.

“George?” Dream asked suddenly.

George tore his eyes from the swaying palm trees. “Yeah?”

“I'm really, really glad you came. You're going to love it here.” Dream's smile could have lit up the night sky.

“I know I will, Dream.”

Dream chuckled. “You can call me Clay,” he offered. “Since we're face to face now. I promise I won't get mad at you.”

George rolled his eyes at the memory but decided that the offer was worth taking. “Clay,” he tried, almost experimentally. The name felt strange on his tongue, like he was speaking another language for the first time.

“That's my name, don't wear it out.”

“You're so annoying,” George muttered and smacked Dream's arm. He returned his gaze to the window and ignored the quiet laughter coming from the taller man.

“Clay” didn't sound right. “Dream” kept trying to force its way through his lips, as it was the only name George had ever associated with the man next to him. But, he supposed, that would change soon enough. After all, he was going to be spending a whole month in Florida.

George smiled out the window. Yeah, this was going to be fun.

——————

Clay fiddled with the hem of his sweatshirt. George's flight had landed, Clay knew that much. He'd been checking the flight app obsessively until it had given him the results he wanted. A couple of minutes ago, Clay had gotten a little antsy and had sent a text to George, telling him to hurry up. He hoped that he wasn't pushing too hard. He was just dying to see his best friend.

Now, that didn't mean that he was going to be impulsive. When George showed up, he was going to be as cool as ice cream.

...Okay, that was corny, but Clay meant it. He _had_ to make a good first impression.

Clay touched the paper plate mask on his face with a grin. _This_ would definitely make a good first impression. He'd cut some rudimentary eye holes, just big enough that he could see George's reaction. Some strange looks from the other people in the airport were well worth the joke.

 _God, when is he going to get here?_ Clay thought. He was well and truly dying. He'd waited so long already, he couldn't wait anymore!

He was just about to send George another text when a man with fair skin and dark hair strode out of the airport. He immediately doubled over, gasping for air in the Florida humidity.

Clay knew that face.

But habit held stronger than shock, and at seeing his friend gasping for air, a chuckle crept up Clay's throat. Before he could stop himself, he was wheezing with laughter.

The other man straightened. A brilliant, almost disbelieving, smile spread across his face. “Dream!” he shouted.

There it was. That beautiful voice, calling Clay's name.

“George!” Clay shouted back.

George immediately began hurrying through the crowd. Clay wanted to meet him halfway, but he swallowed his longing and waited for George to come to him. It wouldn't be the same if he stepped out of the crowd first.

Wait, longing? Where had that come from?

Within a few seconds, George stood in front of him. The shorter man's face lit up with a delighted smile, and Clay decided it had been totally worth it to wait.

“You've got to be joking,” George said, a tad breathlessly. Clay grinned wider underneath his mask. “You cannot wear that the whole time I'm here, okay? No, you know what? I don't even care.”

Before Clay could even chuckle at the other man's dramatics, George threw himself into Clay's arms. Clay felt every semblance of “cool” drain out through his toes. He held the Brit close to him, trying to soak in the presence of his best friend. Clay was a very touchy person. Hugs meant the world to him, and this hug was quickly becoming the best hug he'd ever received. Especially since George was short enough that Clay could rest his chin on the top of George's head if he stretched.

Suddenly, George pressed his face into Clay's collarbone with a content sigh. Clay's insides wobbled dangerously. Why, he didn't know. And he didn't care. At the moment, all that mattered was George.

Speaking of which, the Brit probably wanted to see Clay's face. Clay sure as hell wanted to see George's in person.

Clay reluctantly relinquished George from the hug. He hooked a finger under the bottom of his mask and carefully lifted it from his face. George's mouth actually fell open a little.

“Hey,” Clay said, and he couldn't help a slight grin. Later, Clay would congratulate himself for being so smooth upon seeing George for the first time. But at that moment, Clay could barely feel his own face. His mind had been wiped blank.

George had always looked adorable on his streams. Clay had no trouble admitting that and had even told George as much for donations. It wasn't a secret that he often told George he loved him, either. But in person... Clay felt like his nervous system had short-circuited. George's short brown hair was messy and ruffled, but in just the right way to frame his face. His skin was fair and unblemished. His eyes were the same dark brown as his hair, shining with enough awe and affection that Clay felt weak in the knees.

Something bubbled to life in Clay's chest. It brought with it several feelings that he didn't understand. But, high off the serotonin that flooded his brain, Clay acted without any of his usual filters. He dragged George back into a hug and held the shorter man as tightly as he could.

“It's great to see you,” Clay murmured. “You have no idea.”

George let out an incredulous little puff, and Clay's heart leaped one too many beats. That little kickstart to his nervous system was powerful enough to finally break him from his reverie. Clay released George from their second hug (which he hadn't realized had been so tight), and grabbed the discarded bags from the curb.

“Let's get out of here!” Clay said, and he hurried around to the back of his car. He needed a second to compose himself. Everything that had just happened was a complete overreaction, and he knew that once he calmed down, he'd be fine.

No more hugging George. No more weird feelings.

“That would be awesome,” George laughed. His melodic voice made Clay's insides squeeze. Alright, maybe he needed more than a couple of seconds. “I'm sure the jet lag will hit me soon. How the hell is it only noon here? Feels like the middle of the night.”

Clay snorted and stepped into his car. George joined him a moment later, and Clay pulled them out into the airport traffic. He took a couple of deep breaths, then glanced at his companion. George was gazing out the window, his eyes wide and a happy smile on his face. He looked so peaceful.

Clay's chest squeezed again, and he suddenly felt like he was made of wet sand. Everything George was doing pushed him around, molding him into different shapes and making it hard to breathe. Clay didn't know why he felt so weird, but those thoughts would have to be examined later. For now, he needed to know where he was going.

“It's going to be a half an hour drive to my place. Do you want to get something to eat, or just go home?”

Home. Shit.


	2. Composure Under Pressure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent some time watching Dream and George videos today (for research purposes, of course), and man, these two are genuinely so awesome. We're so lucky to have them on YouTube. With that in mind, quick reminder to not harass them in any way about fanfics, slash art, or even this ship itself. We're all just vibing, and they shouldn't have to deal with that. God knows that shippers can ruin good friendships.
> 
> Enjoy!

Clay peered around the wall. George was sound asleep on the couch, one arm dangling off the cushions and the other flopped over his face. Patches was curled up at George's head with one paw resting on his arm. She'd taken a very quick liking to the Brit. As soon as George had entered the apartment, Patches had wound her way through his legs and demanded attention. It seemed like she'd been waiting for him.

At the time, Clay had feigned betrayal. But in truth, he'd never been happier about Patches liking someone so much.

It was like they'd been meant to meet someday.

Clay left the pair to their nap and returned his attention to the room he was in: his office. To make sure George was comfortable, they'd agreed on George sleeping in Clay's office on an inflatable mattress.

The apartment wasn't very big. The front door led directly to a small dining room on the left and a living room on the right. Clay's bedroom was next to the dining room. Beyond the living room was a cramped kitchen, and Clay's office was tucked beyond the kitchen. The bathroom was across the hall from the office.

In terms of free space, Clay had very little. George sleeping in Clay's office was the only reasonable solution, especially since it was one of the few rooms with its own fan. But Jesus, Clay felt a little bit floaty when he glanced at George's luggage in the corner of the room.

_How many times have I called him in here?_

Clay felt like he was living in a rom-com written by a filmmaker who had barely graduated high school. He and George had been talking for years, but they never saw each other's faces. And then, one day, George flies out to Florida! The audience breaks into cheers as the two finally unite. Roll credits on a backdrop of them walking into the sunset, holding hands.

 _I'm not helping my case,_ Clay thought, rolling his eyes. In the hour it had taken to get to his apartment and unload George's things, Clay had nearly had an emotional meltdown. He just couldn't get over George's real-life mannerisms. Hearing the shorter man laugh over his headset was so different from George giggling in front of him. _Everything_ was different. It was like looking at a picture of the sun and then actually going outside. The two were incomparable, and Clay already knew that it was going to hurt like hell to give George up once the month was through.

“I really am a fucking rom-com character,” Clay sighed aloud. “Christ.”

He wasn't pleased with how he'd reacted at the airport. Usually, Clay wouldn't give a single, solitary shit what people thought about him, but now, what he did directly impacted George. He could bear to examine what had made him act so weird.

Clay paused, halfway done with spreading a sheet over the mattress. “This is stupid,” he muttered. “I'm fine. I'm just jumpy.”

But he wasn't fine. So Clay grit his teeth and dove into his own head.

The way George looked had _definitely_ struck a chord with him. Maybe... maybe it was because he'd only seen George's face a handful of times. His Minecraft skin and his actual face didn't look anything alike.

 _Yeah, that's why,_ Clay decided. _George just doesn't look like his avatar. He's way more attractive and- No, no, not the point._

It was a bullshit argument, and Clay knew it. He'd seen George's face plenty of times. He featured on many of George's facecam streams, and they video called every so often (with Clay's camera turned off, of course). Hell, George even sent him the occasional cute picture.

But that wasn't the answer Clay wanted. He ignored all of the evidence that proved him guilty of more complex feelings and swiftly moved on.

Next question. Why had Clay been so unreserved? He was a very physical person, and he knew it. Most of the time, he was cautious to keep his actions in check until he knew the other person was comfortable. But with George... those boundaries had just disappeared. It wasn't normal. At _all_. Sure, Clay trusted George with his life, and he absolutely loved the other man, but-

No, wait, back up. Clay didn't actually love George. He always meant it as a joke, to play with the fans and keep them entertained. He didn't... he didn't mean it. It wasn't...

Was it?

Clay didn't want to touch that thought with anything less than a 3-mile long “nope” pole.

 _That's enough thinking for one day,_ Clay decided, and left the office as quickly as possible. He hurried to the kitchen and plucked a cold soda from the fridge, pressing it to his suddenly heated face. Was he blushing? Jesus.

Clay spared one more glance at George as he left the kitchen.

The other man looked so peaceful. Both his arms were now on the couch, with one hand on Patches' back. His chest rose and fell gently, and his lips were slightly parted.

“Fuck you, George,” Clay murmured. “You're too...”

 _Too what?_ a little voice in the back of his head asked gleefully. _Too perfect? Too hot, sweet, funny, handsome? You know he's all of those things and more, you've known that for a long time. Why is it different now? Do you feel like you're seeing him for the first time, hmm?_

Clay growled under his breath and headed into his bedroom. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to invite George over for a month. Clay wasn't sure he'd make it out with his heart and sanity intact.

——————

When George peeled his eyes open, he was met with a completely unfamiliar couch in a completely unfamiliar house. His first reaction was one of panic. _Where am I? Oh, please don't tell me I got drunk and passed out or something stupid like that. Wait, was I kidnapped? Where's my phone? Why do I feel so sweaty?_

Then a man emerged from a nearby room. He leaned his hip against the doorframe and gave George a dazzling smile.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he drawled.

The voice and the face combined settled George's panic and made him feel like he'd just drank four Red Bull in a row.

“Is it morning?” George tried to ask. But his throat was thick with sleep, and nothing came out. He coughed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes before trying again. “You should have kissed me to wake me up,” he said. This time, George made recognizable words, but he didn't really register what he'd said.

Dream crossed the room and plopped next to George. “I considered it,” he chuckled. “Don't worry, it's only, like, 5:30. How do you feel?”

With the gentle look that Dream was giving him, cheeks flushed for some unknown reason, George felt like he could run a marathon. But he was starting to wake up, and he knew that wasn't an appropriate response.

“I'm fine,” George yawned. “Hungry.”

Dream nudged George's arm. “Yeah, 'cause you slept through lunch. Let me take you out to dinner.” George narrowed his eyes. He did not trust that offer in the slightest. But Dream raised his hands with an innocent smile. “Stop looking at me like that, I don't have any hidden motives. I'm not _always_ out to get you. That's only when you're trying to like, hunt me down. It's basically self-defense.”

At the mention of the challenge that had made them successful, George was suddenly reminded that he wasn't at home. He was with Dream in Florida. And with that reminder came a very important realization: George had been thinking of the man next to him as Dream, not Clay. He was trying to make the switch, he really was. It just didn't seem like there was anything to connect to the two personas.

But... then again, maybe there was. Clay's crooked smile looked just like George had always imagined Dream's smile to be. When Clay had laughed at the airport, that had definitely sounded just like Dream. Even the way Clay walked, with a slight swing to his hips, fit the Dream persona.

It still wasn't natural. But maybe George's best friend wasn't that different in person.

“Alright, alright, dinner,” George agreed, getting to his feet. “Just let me take a shower first. I feel like I'm drowning in sweat.”

Clay's wheezing laughter followed Clay all the way to the office.

“It's not even that hot this week!” the taller man called.

“Whatever, Clay!” George shouted back. “You're a freak for living here, at least let me be comfortable!”

George grabbed a change of clothes from his suitcase and stepped into the bathroom. As he went about turning on the shower, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. A slight blush dusted his cheeks. George sighed and turned away. At least he could blame it on the heat.

——————

“Alright, alright, dinner,” George said.

Clay grinned. Before he could say anything else, George stood with a roll of his eyes and a smile. “Just let me take a shower first,” the Brit said, already making his way towards the office. “I feel like I'm drowning in sweat.

Not two weeks past, a scorching day had ravaged the city. Clay burst out laughing. “It's not even that bad!” he shouted.

Okay, yeah, he was laying it on a little thick. But Clay was delighted that he could finally make fun of George in person. Being a bit of an asshole about the weather was well worth the familiar banter. With any luck, he might even get George to blush. That would be the icing on the cake.

George's retort trailed from the office. “Whatever, Clay! You're a freak for living here, at least let me be comfortable!”

Clay's brain shut down.

The door to the bathroom closed, and water started running. But Clay didn't get up. He didn't move, he barely breathed. He was frozen, his brain racing in circles around him as it tried to process this latest development.

_Whatever, Clay!_

_Why?_ Clay demanded of himself. Why was something as simple as a name, his _own_ name, for god's sake, sending him into a complete shutdown?

For a long moment, Clay didn't have an answer. Then, he realized.

 _George used my name. My real,_ actual _name. Not for a donation or anything. Just because it's my name._

Clay scowled. Was he twelve again, obsessing over someone cute that have given him the time of day? God, he was embarrassed, he was frustrated... bottom line, he was acting stupid again. George was his best friend, and while there was no denying that the shorter man was adorable, Clay's thoughts weren't rational. They had to be born from shock or some shit. There had to be a psychology concept that dealt with shock influencing emotion, right?

It didn't matter. Clay just had to distract himself. George had agreed to go out to dinner, the least he could do was change into real clothes.

 _This isn't a date,_ he told himself firmly.

He didn't really believe it.

——————

George usually didn't spend much time on his appearance. Many people had told him that he looked good without doing anything, and over time, that had morphed into a very lax self-care routine. But now, standing in front of the mirror and seeing how disheveled he looked, he felt self-conscious. George grabbed his towel from the edge of the sink and attempted to towel-dry his hair. It flopped to the side in a pathetic heap.

George huffed, frustrated. Of course, the one time he tried to put a little effort into his appearance, nothing worked!

 _Why do you care so much?_ a nagging voice asked. _Are you only trying because it's Clay?_

George shook his head and ignored the voice. Voices in heads were voices in heads for a reason: they weren't real. Most of the time, they weren't even founded in reality.

Except, this time, the voice was right. George didn't like that.

But there was nothing he could do about the annoyingly accurate voice now. George left the bathroom, dumped his dirty clothes on top of his suitcase, to be dealt with later, and headed into the living room. Clay was gazing out of a window with his hands in his pockets.

“What are you staring at?” George asked with a grin. “Is there a beautiful sunset that I can't see or something?”

Clay turned from the window, and all the teases that George had been thinking of rolled over and died.

 _Not again, not_ again _._

George was still dumbfounded by how achingly handsome Clay was. He knew it was weird. He did. He and Clay were friends, _good_ friends, and he'd get over it soon. But he wasn't over it yet, and the taller man seemed determined to torture George's poor, confused heart.

Clay apparently had no concept of heat. He was wearing ripped jeans and a black silk jacket with some sort of embroidered pattern. The outfit, in and of itself, was ordinary. But Clay wore it like a model. The jeans were tight on his hips, and the jacket flowed around his shoulders in a way that jackets weren't supposed to flow.

In other words, George's uncomfortable sorta-crush from the airport didn't seem like it was going away any time soon.

 _He looks better than any of my exes,_ George thought absently. He immediately had to fight back a vicious blush. Jesus Christ, where had that come from? What was he even thinking? Clay wasn't- everything about that-

“Took you long enough,” Clay drawled. “Did you enjoy your bath? I know this isn't a full spa, sorry about that.”

George launched himself at the unwitting lifeline. “I didn't take that long,” he protested. “I'd bet good money that you take way longer than I do.”

Clay cocked an eyebrow. “You sure you wanna make that bet?”

“Yeah.”

George tipped his chin up defiantly, and amusement danced in Clay's eyes.

“I'll hold you to that,” the taller man warned. A small grin crossed his face, and he waved George out of the apartment. “But not right now. Come on, I want to get there before the evening crowd.”

“What evening crowd?” George asked hesitantly. “Are you taking me to a bar, Clay?” He'd never thought of the other man as a heavy drinker, given that that wasn't even legal for him. But George had no way of knowing for sure. “Look, I'm not really in the mood. I'm still jet-lagged, and a hangover is the last thing I need.”

Clay wheezed a laugh. The familiar sound put George at ease, but it also reset the progress he'd made on getting the butterflies in his stomach under control.

“I'm not trying to get you drunk,” Clay promised. “Everyone just usually goes out like, right now, and if we don't hurry, it's gonna take hours to get anything anywhere. C'mon, it's a short walk. I promise you'll like it.”

George took a moment to examine Clay's face. It was sweet and earnest, with a gentle smile. Beautiful eyes. Faint dimples. Thin lips.

 _Stop it,_ George told himself. _It's not the time. There'll never be a time. Get over it._

“Fine, I trust you,” is what George said aloud. Clay's smile grew into a huge grin. He grabbed George's hand and pulled him down the stairs, mouth already moving a mile a minute. George laughed. He knew he was putting himself entirely at Clay's mercy. And he was excited as hell.

——————

Clay's biggest concern was, “Would George where they were going?” It was a reasonable question. The level of emotional investment that Clay was putting into the question was not.

He didn't like being nearly clueless about his best friend. He'd never thought of the Brit as a picky eater, but that was because he'd never seen him eat. When it came to affairs of the real world, Clay was working off of scraps of information. It felt like he was walking into a minefield wearing a blindfold and earplugs.

Ugh. Dinner with a friend wasn't supposed to be stressful.

Clay pressed his palms into his eyes. He would calm down as soon as he left the apartment. But until then, he was wound tighter than a newly fixed watch.

Why was he thinking about watches? Jesus, he was really out of it.

“What are you staring at? Is there a beautiful sunset that I can't see or something?”

Clay almost laughed. He turned to tell George that that's exactly what he was watching, but his words stuck in his throat.

After living in Florida for years, seeing people without clothes didn't impress Clay anymore. Bikinis and shorts and speedos were as commonplace as jeans. It had gotten to the point where Clay didn't think he could be interested in anyone's body.

But it figured, it just _fucking_ figured, that George would be the exception. By some godforsaken British magic, George wearing more than the people on the beach grabbed Clay's heart and squeezed tightly enough to stop circulation.

George had donned a white and blue collared shirt and tight, black, cuffed jeans. The shirt comfortably hugged his slim form, and his hair was perfectly ruffled. He looked... god, he looked like he belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine.

Clay was nothing if not stubborn. So, upon seeing the beautiful, dare he say, _heartbreaking_ , man before him, he refused to cave to his thoughts. He'd been in Florida too many years to let physique turn him into mush, especially when the person he was admiring was his best friend! Goddamnit, he wasn't going to mess this up! He shoved all his thoughts into a corner of his mind and said,

“Took you long enough. Did you enjoy your bath? I know this isn't a full spa, sorry about that.”

George rolled his eyes. “I didn't take that long,” he said dryly. “I'd bet good money that you take way longer than I do.”

Clay couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that. “You sure you wanna make that bet?” he asked.

George tipped his chin up defiantly. “Yeah.”

_Fuck, don't do that. Just... stop existing, okay? Give me, like, five minutes to stop drooling and get back to normal._

Clay realized that he'd been quiet a little too long and hurriedly backtracked. What had they been talking about? Right, showers. He desperately needed one, anything to break the frantic cycle of thoughts running around his head.

“I'll hold you to that,” Clay warned. “But not right now. Come on, I want to get there before the evening crowd.”

Clay waved George out of the apartment, following a couple of steps behind. He stepped into the Florida dusk and locked the door behind him. George watched him curiously.

“What evening crowd?” the Brit asked. “Are you taking me to a bar, Clay? Look, I'm not really in the mood. I'm still jet-lagged, and a hangover is the last thing I need.”

Panic wrapped its arms around Clay's neck and began to choke him. Had he made such a bad impression that George thought all Clay wanted to do was get him drunk? That was so bad on so many levels, and Clay didn't-

Wait. That's right, they didn't know things like that about each other yet. They'd never had a midnight dinner together; they'd never discussed whether they should go drinking or not.

Clay heaved a relieved laugh. God, he _had_ to calm down before he said something he'd regret.

“I'm not trying to get you drunk,” he promised. An adorable smile crept at the corners of George's mouth, but he didn't look convinced. “Everyone just usually goes out like, right now, and if we don't hurry, it's gonna take hours to get anything anywhere,” Clay explained. “C'mon, it's a short walk. I promise you'll like it.”

He really was making a promise. _I promise that I won't do anything to hurt you. I promise that you're going to have fun. I promise that I'll take care of you_.

After a moment, George smiled slightly. “Fine, I trust you,” he said.

Fireworks exploded in Clay's stomach, and he beamed at the shorter man. Without even thinking, Clay grabbed George's hand and hurried down the stairs.

“We're going to this sushi place that everyone loves,” Clay said, rattling off the train of thought that had been bouncing around his head. “I remembered you saying that you loved sushi, and I've never had good sushi, so I thought this would be perfect. Just don't blame me if it tastes terrible, I'm going off reviews and word of mouth. If it's complete shit, there's pizza around the corner. But that's, like, a last resort. I don't know, I just really want to take you to get sushi.”

It came to Clay's attention that he was rambling. More than that, he had admitted to fantasizing about taking George places. He clamped his mouth shut and prayed that he hadn't done too much damage. _That's why you have to calm down, dipshit,_ he told himself angrily. But, to his relief, George was grinning.

“Clay, that's adorable,” George giggled. “I can't believe you remembered that! I'm excited to see what Florida sushi tastes like.” George flashed Clay a bright smile. “I wouldn't mind pizza, either, even though that's kind of universal."

Clay took another step and nearly tripped over the curb. George had no right to be so cute. He was starting to become a hazard to Clay's wellbeing.

“Pizza is not universal,” Clay protested. His voice was shakier than he would have liked. “There's bad pizza literally everywhere. There's like, five actually good pizza places, and we have one of them here.”

George hummed. “Sure. I'll have to see that for myself.”

They lapsed into silence. Clay had had the presence of mind to release George's hand once they'd reached the street, but now, it felt like he was too far away. He settled for sneaking a glance at the shorter man. George was looking around with wide eyes, as if he was seeing the world for the first time. In a way, that was probably the case. Florida was an entirely different world than England.

A thought suddenly popped into Clay's head. This was technically their first dinner. Warmth bloomed in his chest, and he ducked his head, grinning at the street. Their first dinner. It had only taken a couple of years.

“What are you smiling about?”

Clay glanced up to find George giving him a fond look. His stomach curled into knots, but he swallowed back his nerves and said, “You're here, and we're going to dinner. That's pretty cool. Definitely better than going out for drinks.” George chuckled, and Clay realized that they'd never finished that conversation. “Did you think that I was going to take you out drinking?” he asked hesitantly.

George shrugged. “Kinda. I dunno, I just... didn't know for sure. I'm not much of a drinker, I'll tell you that right now. I'm much happier with coffee and a good meal. And yes, I drink lots of coffee. Shut up.”

Relief untied the tension in Clay's shoulders. “I bet you blow all your money on Starbucks,” he snickered. George gave Clay an offended look, and Clay burst out laughing. “I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I don't drink either, by the way. Yet, at least. Couple more months.”

George giggled again, and the mood lifted. It was like magic. God, Clay didn't understand. George made his world so bright. How the hell had Clay gotten lucky enough to meet the Brit, let alone call him his friend?

...let alone take him out to dinner?

 _It's a miracle that no one's already taken him,_ Clay thought miserably. _I wish I could_.

No, wait. That wasn't right. That- No. Clay was just-

Oh, _shit_.

——————

George really loved Florida. Despite the oppressive humidity that made it seem impossible to survive, the state was decorated with beautiful wildlife. Swaying trees and rounded bushes were everywhere, and flowers of every color bloomed next to the sidewalks. George felt like he was in his own little paradise, where he could be anything he wanted to be. Florida was certainly setting an example in doing its own thing.

Maybe that was why Clay was so unique.

The taller man was a ball of energy and enthusiasm, wrapped in smooth smiles and terrifying intelligence. George was convinced that Clay could pursue anything in the world and somehow become the best in the field. George would have been jealous if he wasn't so awestruck.

“We're here!”

“Hmm?” George pulled himself out of his thoughts and found a small building before him. It could barely even be called a building, it was more a hole in the wall. But there were a couple of happy, neon signs in the windows, and patrons sat at tables outside the shop, talking and laughing. It seemed like a charming, little place.

“Ready to have good sushi, Clay?” George asked. He grinned at the taller man, who sighed heavily.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Clay muttered. “This better be good. Last time I had sushi, I couldn't look at rice for a week.” George raised an eyebrow. Clay rolled his eyes and strode into the building. “I don't want to talk about it. Just- come on, let's order.”

George trailed after Clay. The inside of the sushi shop, dubbed “Whatsabi” by a mural behind the counter, was much prettier than the outside. A couple of lanterns dangled from the ceiling, and small, red banners hung on the walls. But Clay was already at the register, attempting to order, so George didn't have time to admire the décor. He chuckled and joined the taller man at the register.

In the end, they decided on a combination plate so that Clay could try a little bit of everything. They collected their order and picked a table outside the shop. George happily dug in, but Clay waited a couple more minutes before he tried anything.

“You promise this is better than prepackaged sushi?” Clay asked suspiciously, poking one of the rolls with a chopstick.

“You're so ridiculous,” George laughed. “Yes, it's better than prepackaged sushi. Just try it! If you don't like it, we can go get pizza once I'm done, okay? But you have to try something.”

Clay grimaced at the plate. “Fine.”

The taller man carefully picked up a roll and popped it in his mouth. For a moment, he didn't react. George raised his eyebrows. Was it good, was it bad? He wasn't getting any clues. Then Clay's face lit up, and he devoured three more rolls before George could even blink.

“So, you like it?” George asked smugly.

Clay flipped him off and kept eating. George snickered, but let his friend enjoy the food. For the rest of the meal, George did most of the talking. Clay was busy working his way through the plate with reckless abandon, barely pausing to mumble a couple of words. George didn't mind carrying the conversation, though. It was worth to watch Clay enjoy himself so much.

“I never imagined that you'd enjoy food as much as I do,” George commented halfway through their dinner.

“Hell yeah,” Clay mumbled around a mouthful of sushi. He made a face and quickly swallowed. “Sorry. Yeah, I love food, anything I can try. And this... this is pretty good.”

“So you're a food connoisseur,” George noted. “Do you cook?” Clay nodded several times, and George grinned. “Alright, you're going to have to cook something for me. It'd be awesome if you can bake, too. Dessert is like, the fastest way to my heart.”

Clay was quiet for a moment. Then a big grin spread across his face, and he tipped his head. “I'm sure I can come up with something.”

George could have sworn that the world got a little brighter.

——————

Yes, yes, Clay admitted it, sushi was actually delicious. It was one of the best meals he'd had a long time, and he could see why his friends had all recommended this shop. But when he looked back on that dinner months later, discovering his new favorite food wasn't his favorite part of the night. It was the walk back to his apartment.

With both him and George devouring the sushi, they finished eating quickly. Clay paid, as promised, though he had to fight to do so. For some reason, George thought that he should pay for the first meal. Clay told him, “No,” because he had eaten more. It turned out that George was as stubborn in real life as he was playing Minecraft, and Clay had to stand his ground for several minutes. But, eventually, the shorter man caved.

It was so much more satisfying and fun to stare down George in person, Clay thought. George's halfhearted glare was the best thing that he'd had seen all month.

After the bill was settled, they left Whatsabi and headed back to Clay's apartment. They wandered along side by side, occasionally bumping into each other as they walked. Clay was so, so tempted to put an arm around George's shoulders. But, no, that was too touchy. Well, was it? No. Well-

No, fuck it. Clay wasn't going to act like they were strangers.

Clay stepped into George's personal space and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. The shorter man shot Clay an annoyed look.

“Clay, I'm not your armrest,” George grumbled.

Clay snickered. “Yeah, you are.” He ruffled George's hair, and they kept walking.

They started to talk about music, which led them to tv shows. From there, their conversation spread out into every field imaginable. It was a 20-minute walk back to Clay's apartment, but for the first time in his life, Clay wished it was longer. It was so easy to talk to George. They flowed back and forth as smoothly as ocean waves.

Being close to the Brit made it even better. Clay could feel George's warmth, feel the shaking of his shoulders when he laughed. It was priceless. If Clay was given one wish, he would have asked to just walk forever.

But, of course, they didn't have forever. A couple of minutes away from Clay's apartment, George started to yawn.

“You tired?” Clay asked innocently.

“Shut up, Clay,” George muttered. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and yawned again. “I've been up for... I don't even know many hours. Lots of hours. Way more hours than you.”

“I know, I know. Let's get you home.”

Clay more or less led George the rest of the way. He slid his arm under George's shoulders and guided the shorter man through the streets. After an agonizing 3 minute trek, Clay managed to get them to the last signal before his apartment.

“Almost there,” he muttered, more to himself than to George.

“Mmm. Thanks, Clay.”

Clay glanced down at the shorter man, and his stomach dropped.

George was beautiful. The red light above their heads illuminated his skin with an ethereal crimson glow, and a gentle smile curved his face. Even as sleepy as he was, his eyes were alight with joy.

_You're so beautiful._

Then the light turned green, and Clay was broken from his admiring. He hustled across the street and hurried into the apartment complex. Clay got them both inside just as George started to slip off his shoulder.

“I'm gonna sleep here,” the Brit mumbled.

“No, you can't,” Clay chuckled. “C'mon, you just gotta get to the office. You can take a couple more steps.”

George sighed and reluctantly let Clay led him to the office. As soon as they reached the doorway, George toppled forward onto the mattress with a stream of muttered gibberish.

Clay shook his head and tried not to laugh. “Goodnight, George.”

George rolled onto his back and gave Clay a sleepy smile. “Goodnight, Clay,” he mumbled. “Thank you for tonight.”

“You're welcome. See you tomorrow.”

Clay closed the door to the office. For a moment, he just stared at the closed door. Then joy spread through his chest, forcing an embarrassingly big smile onto his face. Clay laughed to himself and wandered back into the living room. He collapsed onto the couch with a happy sigh.

Oh, he still couldn't believe it. This day had been the first of an _entire month_ that George was going to be with him. Clay was going to spoil the Brit absolutely rotten with cooked meals and sweets and anything else he could think of. He couldn't resist! He was a sucker for George's dazzling smile and bright laugh and mesmerizing eyes-

Goddamn it.

Clay pressed his hands into his eyes. “You shouldn't be so beautiful,” he murmured. “ _I_ shouldn't think you're so beautiful.”

Patches jumped onto the couch and nuzzled Clay's hand, watching him with concerned eyes. “Mrrrp?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Clay sighed. “Patch, I think I have a crush. It's not exactly a crush, but-”

“Prrrrrm.”

Patches stopped Clay mid-sentence, giving him an accusatory look.

Clay glared at her. “What?” he demanded. “You don't think I'm telling the truth? My cat doesn't listen to me once another guy comes along and pats her on the head?”

Patches didn't back down. Slowly, Clay deflated and buried his face in his hands.

He was in denial, and he knew it. Moments spread across the past couple of years were coming together, forming a puzzle that Clay had been desperately trying to keep apart. George arriving in Florida had been the catalyst, and now, Clay had no choice but to see the full picture. He didn't want to admit that his weird feelings had been around for a long time. But they had been. And they had been beyond his control from the moment they'd first appeared.

Clay glanced at Patches. She was still watching him, but her look had softened.

“Patches....” Clay sighed, sinking into the couch. “I'm in love with George.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Criticism/comments/compliments are all greatly appreciated!


	3. Show the World That It's You and Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8300+ word chapter?... No, couldn't be me.
> 
> Jesus, so much has happened since the last time I posted. I spent so much time frantically rewriting, only to give up and roll with the chaos. But there's one thing I can absolutely promise you! This dialogue is as close as you'll get to their actual speech patterns! (Trust me, I've been binging the manhunts/streams for the past week lol.) 
> 
> Please take everything I write with a grain of salt lol, I'm just having fun, and hopefully making some of you smile!
> 
> Enjoy!

George was woken up by a clap of thunder.

He jolted upright with a gasp, thrashing against an unfamiliar weight on his chest. _Where the hell am I?_ he thought, panicked.

And then... a feeling of deja vu. This had happened to him before, hadn't it? Yeah, yesterday, when he'd woken up from his nap. Once again, George reassured himself that he was in Florida, staying at Clay's house. The unfamiliar weight was a combination of him wearing jeans and a sweat-soaked sheet (courtesy of the humidity). But he didn't have an easy explanation for the thunder.

George rolled onto his stomach and peered out the window across the room. The sky was a smeary gray, and droplets of water ran down the windowpane.

Ah. It was raining. It was true that George didn't know much about Florida weather. Still, he had been positive that the websites he'd looked at had been exaggerating. Clearly, he'd been wrong. It had been nothing but blue skies and sun the previous day.

George smacked his lips, and the horrible taste in his mouth reminded him that he had more important things to worry about than the weather. George sighed and clambered to his feet. He grabbed a change of clothes and his essentials and wandered out into the hallway.

A quiet “mreow” greeted George as soon as he exited the office. Patches was sitting on the couch, eyes wide and tail flicking from side to side. George wiggled his fingers at her. The apartment was nearly silent, so Clay was definitely still sleeping. George had to do his best not to disturb the peace.

He entered the bathroom and fished his phone out of his pocket. 5:45 am. Not as bad as he'd expected, given the time difference. George had always been more of an early bird, anyway.

After checking that both doors were locked (he didn't want any surprises), George took a quiet shower. He ran a cursory hair through his hair, brushed his teeth, and put a dab of lotion on his face. Florida was oppressively humid, but George's skin was drier. It was the two worst situations one could be in battling for dominance. For the first time, George prayed that his dry skin won.

When he left the bathroom, the apartment was still dead silent. George padded into the kitchen to soothe his grumbling stomach. He felt a little weird taking things out of a fridge that wasn't his, but George hoped that Clay wouldn't mind. He was a semi-permanent guest, after all.

Patches jumped onto the counter. “Mreow,” she insisted.

“I don't know where your food is,” George said softly. “I'm sorry. Just wait until Clay wakes up. He'll give you breakfast and whatever else you need.”

If cats could roll their eyes, Patches would have. “Mrrrrp.”

George laughed quietly. “He's not much of a morning person, is he?”

“Prrrrrp.” Patches situated herself in the kitchen sink and went back to sleep.

After a bit of foraging, George found a bowl, a cereal brand that he liked, and a banana. It was enough to make his stomach happy.

George checked his phone as he ate. Alerts from YouTube about the video he'd published, notifications from some other apps- and a noted lack of messages from Discord. Well, there were a couple from Nick, but none from Dream.

Then Patches meowed, and a smile plucked at George's mouth. That was right. He was _with_ Dream. There weren't any messages from the taller man because he was literally still asleep.

George munched another bite of cereal and opened Discord.

**Boisssssss**

**Cowboi** : george where are you

 **Cowboi** : i have been texting you all night

 **Cowboi** : and what did you do with clay

 **Cowboi** : WHY ARE NEITHER OF YOU TALKING TO ME

George snorted and placed his spoon back into the bowl, using both hands to text. The younger man was usually up early for his classes, so maybe he'd be online. Or maybe he wouldn't have gone to sleep yet. Either way, George hoped he could calm Nick down before Clay woke up.

 **britishboi** : chill

 **britishboi** : I'm fine

 **britishboi** : and so is Clay

 **britishboi** : he's still asleep

 **Cowboi** : what the fuck

 **Cowboi** : what do you mean he's still asleep

 **britishboi** : ??????

 **britishboi** : I mean that he's still asleep

 **Cowboi** : jesus george i didn't know that you were so good in bed

George let out a strangled noise. Patches lifted her head from the sink, and her confused look made George feel even more flustered. He closed Discord, but that didn't stop a painfully warm blush from spreading over his cheeks.

He really hoped that Clay didn't wake up any time soon.

George shook his head and returned is attention to his phone. Nick hadn't texted anything else, which gave him a bit of a respite. What else did he have to deal with? There were a couple of questions from fans about why George hadn't streamed, as he'd promised earlier in the week. Hmm, that actually had to be addressed. Come to think of it, how would George stream? He didn't have his usual setup, since taking it on the plane would have been expensive and dangerous.

 _Another problem for later,_ George decided, and went onto Twitter. He was met with a hellfire, stemming from a tweet from the previous night. As usual, it had originated from Clay.

 **Dream2** : I'm turning my skin into a sushi, thank @georgenootfound

George snorted. Sometimes, he pitied their fanbase. Clay took delight in causing chaos, he was as much of a nightmare on Twitter as he was in Minecraft.

Minecraft. Right. George had to figure out how he was going to stream.

A couple of minutes later, George plopped onto the couch with his laptop and a handful of nuts. Patches joined him soon after, and George absently stroked her head while he searched the internet. It wasn't that he couldn't play Minecraft on his laptop. It was old, but not that old. George was more concerned with how low his video and audio quality would be. There had to be a way to get the best of all worlds... hah, all worlds.

Several hours later, George was no closer to a solution- unless buying a new microphone, camera, and headset counted as a viable option. He sat back with a huff.

Patches opened an eye. “Mrr?” she asked.

“Nothing,” George sighed. “Maybe I just won't stream for a month. God, how would I explain that?”

George glanced at his phone. 9 am. Nearly three hours, and he still had nothing.

The door to Clay's bedroom suddenly creaked. Patches launched herself off the couch and padded over to the closed door. George watched, amused, as the door swung open, and Patches trotted through. She meowed loudly, as if announcing her arrival.

“Good morning to you, too,” a voice heavy with sleep grumbled. “You only stick around because I feed you and let you go outside, don't you?”

“Meow.”

“Well, you're going to have to wait. It's pouring. You know where the little box is.”

“Mrrrrggg.”

Patches trotted back out of the bedroom. She hopped onto the couch once more and draped herself over George's leg. George chuckled, stroking the cat's head. Patches purred in response.

Clay wandered into the living room a moment later, stretching his arms over his head as he went. He paused halfway to the kitchen and gave George a confused, sleepy look.

George smiled. “Good morning,” he chuckled.

“Why the hell are you awake?” Clay asked. His voice was still gravelly from sleep.

George inhaled sharply and prayed that he hadn't gone red. “I'm still adjusting to the time difference,” he said. _Keep your voice even, keep your voice even, keep-_ “It's a wonder that I didn't wake up sooner.”

Clay rolled his eyes, stretching one more time before heading for the kitchen. George let out a quiet breath, fixing his eyes on his laptop. Clay was _really_ lean. George was positive that the taller man worked out. If nothing else, the Florida native was insanely fit from living near the ocean. George was going to have to ask where the nearest gyms were, he couldn't go a month without working out.

Ooh. Working out with Clay. Not good for George's self-esteem or dignity. He'd have to find a way around that.

“Did you already eat?”

George glanced up. The taller man was leaning against the breakfast bar, watching George with half-lidded eyes. George swallowed an embarrassing little noise.

“Yeah.” It was all he could manage.

Clay rubbed his eyes. “Sorry I wasn't up to make you anything,” he mumbled through his hands. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”

“Clay, you're fine. Seriously. Go do whatever you normally do in the morning, I'm not going anywhere.”

A grin spread across Clay's face. “Yeah. You aren't.”

He looked so adorably happy, especially with a sleepy smile plastered on his face. It made George's heart ache. It was a smile. Just a smile. Clay was smiling because they were friends. God, George was already in confused agony, and it had been less than 24 hours from his arrival.

“Go away,” George chuckled, hiding the ache behind a smile. Clay obeyed and wandered back into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. George glanced at Patches, who was still curled up next to him. “Your owner is very handsome, you know that?”

Patches gave George a knowing look. “Mrrrr.”

George blew a breath out through his nose. “I know. I don't have a chance with him, even if I try. But he's just... I don't know. He's irresistible.”

Patches snuggled up to George's side. George wasn't sure if he appreciated the comfort. What kind of person needed a cat to make them feel better about their uncomfortable feelings? But... having company was better than suffering alone. George patted Patches' head.

——————

Clay exited the bathroom feeling like a person again. But being awake meant that he was also more annoyed at the weather. Rain was a constant in Florida, but Clay had hoped that it would be a couple more days before a storm came along. He had been planning to take George to the beach.

Speaking of his best friend... Clay admitted it, he had been a little surprised to walk out of his bedroom and see George sitting on the couch. In the back of his mind, Clay had been convinced that he'd dreamt the past three days. That he'd wake up and see a “good morning” text from George on his phone. But instead, he'd gotten the man's beautiful smile and cheerful voice as a good morning.

Clay much preferred the real-life greeting.

When Clay pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time, he found unread Discord messages waiting for him. It was a short conversation between George and Nick from about three hours earlier. George hadn't responded since 6 am, but Nick had kept texting.

 **Cowboi** : george

 **Cowboi** : gogy

 **Cowboi** : bitch

 **Cowboi** : clay when you _wake up_ you gotta tell me how good he is

 **Cowboi** : little british boi is embarrassed uwu

Clay snickered. He headed for the living room, tapping out a reply as he went.

 **dreamboi** : just woke up. should tell you enough

 **Cowboi** : holy shit

 **Cowboi** : remind me why i can't fly down there right now

 **dreamboi** : i'm not sharing

 **Cowboi** : rude

 **Cowboi** : i would make him happier

 **dreamboi** : back the fuck off

 **Cowboi** : simpppp

Clay found George still sitting on the couch, hunched over his laptop. Clay cleared his throat and held up his phone with a wicked grin.

“I told him how good you were.”

For a moment, George just stared at Clay with his fingers hovering over his keyboard. Then his cheeks flushed tomato red, and he lunged for his phone. George fumbled his phone open and scanned the screen. Somehow, his cheeks got even redder.

“I- I didn't-” the Brit stammered. Suddenly, betrayal washed away the embarrassment on his face. “Why the _hell_ would you say that?” he howled.

Clay burst out laughing. “It was funny,” he wheezed, blocking a pillow that George launched at his face. The Brit huffed, and Clay crossed the room, flopping onto the couch. With his brain still a little hazy from sleep, he didn't think twice about wrapping an arm around George's shoulders. “But you really knocked me out, huh?”

George rolled his eyes. But he made no attempt to remove Clay's arm, and a playful smile touched his lips. “I guess I did.”

There was an edge in George's voice that pricked little needles along the inside of Clay's stomach. He stifled a shudder and quickly stood.

“Any requests for second breakfast?” he asked, hurrying into the kitchen.

“You're the cook here, not me,” George called. “Surprise me. Whatever you make to make, just make mine smaller, I already had cereal. Actually, scratch that, make it smaller, but as tasty it can be. I want to be spoiled.”

 _With pleasure,_ Clay thought. He grabbed some eggs and vegetables from the fridge and tried not to let his thoughts wander from the food in front of him. For a couple of seconds, it worked. But then, George's words registered. “You stole my cereal?” Clay asked, grinning.

George flushed again, though nowhere near as strongly as before. “Sorry. I was starving when I woke up, and I thought-”

“It's fine,” Clay chuckled. “Take anything you want, okay? Seriously. This fridge is yours.” George was still a little red, so Clay took pity on him and turned back to his cooking. “What have you been doing all morning? You look like you haven't moved in hours.”

The Brit groaned. He wandered over to the breakfast bar and rested his head against the fake marble. “I _haven't_ moved in hours,” George mumbled. “I was trying to figure out how I'm going to stream. But no matter what I do, the quality is going to be shit, and there's no way I'm buying new equipment just to stream. I don't know what I'm going to do.”

Clay stirred the vegetables in the pan. As far as he could see, there was one obvious option available. He just wasn't sure if George would like it.

“We can stream together,” Clay offered lightly. “Until you figure something else out.”

George lifted his head and fixed Clay with an unreadable look. Clay barely managed to keep from squirming under George's piercing gaze. He couldn't read the Brit's face at all. Was George uncomfortable with the idea of streaming with Clay? Or was he just considering it?

And Clay was overthinking again. Wonderful. Apparently, his midnight revelation of being in love hadn't been enough to calm his brain down at all.

The unreadable look drained from George's face, replaced by a dejected stare. “That still doesn't help me,” he said miserably. “I don't have a good mic, and I won't be able to use my facecam. Besides, all I have is my laptop.”

Clay's chest squeezed. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to make his best friend feel better, no matter what he had to do.

“I can turn on my camera,” he suggested. “And if you sit with me, the mic will pick up your voice. It works for a while, right?”

Confusion danced in George's eyes. “But... you'd have to do a face reveal.”

Clay grinned. “No, I don't.”

He made sure that the eggs and vegetables weren't going to burn, then dashed into his bedroom. He grabbed his discarded sweatshirt and rooted around the pockets. Where was it?... There! Clay raced back into the kitchen. He slid to a stop, balanced himself, then held the crumpled paper plate to his face.

“Ta-da!”

Even through the tiny eyeholes, Clay could see George squint at him.

“Clay, you understand how stupid that is, right?” the Brit asked slowly.

Clay snickered. Finally, he could show off the genius of the simple plate. “It works!” he protested. “You can't see my face at all! Listen, all I have to do is make the eyes big enough for me to see and cut a hole in the smile, so the mic picks up my voice! No face reveal, and you get to stream!”

For a long moment, silence hung over the kitchen. Then George let out a delighted laugh.

“You're absolutely crazy,” he said, still chuckling. “But if you're down, I'll do it.”

Clay tossed the paper plate into the trash with a grin. He flipped the eggs and stirred the vegetables one more time, then divided them onto two plates. He placed one of the servings in front of George with a dramatic bow.

“Your treat for agreeing to my plan,” Clay said, giving the shorter man a cheeky grin.

George took the plate with a laugh. “Shut up.”

Clay just kept smiling.

A couple of hours later, they started to settle into Clay's office. They'd moved the mattress and George's suitcase into the living room, and grabbed an extra chair from the dining room. There was a small space at the end of Clay's desk that George balanced his laptop on. It was impossible to see anything below George's forearms, but the Brit was very clearly in frame. And that was all that really mattered.

According to their plan, Clay also made himself a new mask. After a bit of searching in his closet, he'd found a blank, white face mask from a forgotten Halloween costume. He cut the eye and mouth holes a little bigger, colored around the eyes with a Sharpie, and drew on a sloppy smile.

When he showed the mask to George, the shorter man just shook his head.

“Looks just like your Minecraft skin,” the Brit said dryly. “There's not much we can do about your hair, though.”

Oh, right, his hair. Clay glanced at his monitor and ran a hand through his hair. He considered putting on a beanie, but immediately discarded the notion. His fans had seen his hair before. It didn't matter too much.

Eventually, they were both set up, Clay at his desk and George on his right. Clay shooed the shorter man out of frame, then faced down his monitor. The facecam software taunted him, threatening his resolve. Even a voice in the back of Clay's head questioned him.

_Are you really going to do this just to let George stream? You know there are other ways. Hell, he could just use your computer for the day!_

That was all true. But there was a part of Clay that wanted to do this.

So he started the stream and pulled up the facecam before he could change his mind. “Hey, everyone!” he chirped.

It took about five seconds for the chat to collapse into pandemonium. Questions flew, everything from why Clay had turned on his camera, to why he was wearing a mask, to the little corner of George's shoulder that he hadn't been able to get out of frame. Of course, no one knew that it was George yet. But many were already considering the idea.

Clay waited for a couple thousand more people to join, then started talking.

“Yes, I have my camera on!” he said, waving a hand. “But only because I have a very special guest!”

George took his cue and scooted back into frame. He gave the camera a dazzling smile.

“Hello.”

The chat went berserk.

Clay chuckled at the ridiculous messages that flew past. “Yes, George is with me in person,” he promised. “He's really here, it's not a green screen or anything.”

To prove that he was telling the truth, Clay leaned back and wrapped his arms around George's shoulders. The shorter man flinched in surprise, but he placed a hand on top of Clay's.

“Dream, stop it,” George chided lightly. “I'm trying to log in. You're slowing me down.”

Clay rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the writhing in his gut. He'd gotten used to George calling him “Clay.” “Dream” didn't sound right anymore. “Dream” was for when they were thousands of miles away, talking over Discord calls. That wasn't the case anymore. Clay was literally holding onto the Brit, and he'd accidentally rested his chin against George's shoulder while he'd been thinking.

Not the time to be clingy. _So_ not the time. No matter how good it felt.

Clay shook off any residual thoughts and released the shorter man. “Hurry up!” he ordered. “Okay, so today-”

“Hold on, Dream.” George leaned across Clay's arm to get a better look at the monitor. You've missed, like, a million donations already.” George gave the camera a bright smile. “Here, I'll help him out since he's being so slow. 'Are you living together?' No, not yet. 'George, why didn't you stream yesterday?' I was traveling, that's why I'm streaming with Dream! 'Is Dream going to wear the mask the whole stream?'” George glanced at Clay and shot him a mischievous grin. “He seemed pretty set on the idea, yeah.”

Clay struggled to keep his hands steady as he launched Minecraft. Usually, he had the anonymity of a screen to protect him. But now, he had to make sure that he didn't react too strongly to anything. Otherwise, it would be captured for everyone to see.

“Not yet?” What the hell did George mean by that, “not yet?”

George shifted further onto Clay's arm. “You're literally missing more donations, Dream. Am I going to have to do this all stream?”

Oh, _fuck_ no. Clay would not survive George “doing this” all stream. Having his camera turned on was making him anxious enough as it was. Having George sitting next to him (and basically on top of him) was giving him heart palpitations and a severe concentration problem. Clay was going to be extremely lucky if he escaped the stream without making any embarrassing comments.

And god knew that the chat would notice. They would pick apart every small mannerism that he had, and they would theorize until the stream ended. Most streams, Clay just brushed off the messages that came with the donations, sometimes even laughed at them. Now, it was impossible for him to be as “Dream” as he usually was.

But... he was the same person, regardless of what name he used. He was the same person regardless of whether or not people could see his face. So... maybe it would be okay if Clay let himself relax.

“Stop, I'm going to read my donations,” Clay laughed. He shoved George off his arm and steadfastly ignored the slight pout that the Brit gave him. Even as his stomach flipped. “As I was _saying_ , I thought we could have a little fun today. What do you think, George?”

George paused, his fingers hovering over his laptop. “What do you mean?” he asked hesitantly. His eyes never moved from the screen, but barely concealed confusion was evident on his face. _We didn't talk about this before the stream._

Clay grinned broadly. He tipped his head at the camera, then swiveled his chair towards George. “I was thinking of a classic,” he drawled. “Manhunt. It's been a while since I hunted you down. Don't you think that this is the perfect time to bring it back? After all-” Clay gestured grandly to the camera. “This is a special occasion.”

For a moment, George said nothing. Clay watched the chat out of the corner of his eye, grinning even more at the thousands of desperate messages that pleaded with George to accept the challenge. Eventually, the shorter man tipped his chin up at Clay. But he wore a surprisingly dangerous smile.

“Ready when you are,” the Brit said lowly. “I've gotten better, Dream. I think I can beat you now.”

A shiver ran down Clay's spine. He almost flinched, and he barely stopped his hands from twitching. Okay, that was _not_ what he'd expected. Thank god his mask hid the blush that had spread like wildfire across his face.

“This is a nice seed,” Clay commented, trying his best to hide his voice's rough edge. George hummed noncommittally, and a wicked idea drowned out Clay's more... distracting thoughts. “You better get moving, George,” he chuckled. “I'm giving you five free seconds. Five... four...”

George was off before Clay even got to three.

Once the game well and truly began, Clay found himself falling into a familiar rhythm. He knew that he became a demon during manhunts, and armed with the ability to respawn as many times as he wanted, he felt invincible. And, yes, Clay had to admit, he loved listening to George in person. It was all well and good to listen to the Brit through his headset, but actually hearing George hiss under his breath when he took fall damage from a risky jump? Better than any Discord call.

Within ten minutes, Clay had George cornered in a particularly hilly part of a desert.

“ _Come here, George!_ ” Clay shouted, leaning forward in anticipation.

The Brit's voice rose to a desperate shriek. “ _No, no, no-!_ ”

Clay launched himself forward and prepared to land the final blow. A rush of adrenaline flooded his system. He was already mentally crowing about his early victory when something very strange happened.

During the stream, Clay and George had inadvertently shifted to be right next to each other. Clay hadn't even noticed that he could feel George pressing against him. But suddenly, he became very aware of the fact. Because as George struggled to escape, his legs stretched beyond his small chair. Their legs pressed together, and George hooked one of his feet around Clay's ankle, toes curling as he screamed.

And Clay just... stopped. His fingers slipped on the keys, and his character stumbled to a halt. George took off across the desert, sand flying up behind him.

 _He's so warm. He's_ so _warm. What's he doing? It's adorable... God, he's flexible._

“Stop being so fast!” George screeched. “I need more than five seconds!”

Clay snapped out of his haze. “My keyboard froze up!” he protested. It was a weak excuse, but the camera couldn't see his hands. And thankfully, no one in the chat had noticed that his shoulders had tensed up just as George had screamed. Clay thanked whatever god watched over him and continued his pursuit.

Time ticked by as the two played cat and mouse. Clay nearly landed several finishing blows, but each time, George slipped from his grasp. In some cases, it was because the Brit actually managed to juke Clay out. Other times, he unwittingly distracted Clay. Either way, the Florida native was not pleased.

Finally, George had gathered everything he needed to activate the End Portal. But Clay was already waiting in the portal room. He had a bucket of lava and a diamond sword at the ready. When George had managed to escape a third time, Clay had started planning this trap. Especially since the chat had started theorizing that Clay's lack of focus might have something to do with the Brit at his shoulder. He wouldn't fail again. He wouldn't let the chat know that they were right.

“Dream, you've been quiet for way too long,” George muttered. He was leaned so far back in his chair that he was basically using Clay's shoulder as a pillow.

“I don't have something interesting to say all the time,” Clay chuckled.

“Well, then, come up with something to say. We are live, and you have an audience to entertain.”

George's name was getting closer, slowly coming towards the portal room. Clay broke the invisibility potion that he'd crafted and switched to his bucket of lava.

“I don't need to talk all the time to be entertaining,” he said evenly. “Unlike _you_.”

The chat was blowing up. Half of the chaos was because of Clay's trap, the other half was because of their proximity. A new donation caught Clay's eye, and he subtly shut off the computer sound. George didn't need to hear his plan from a smart donator.

“Very cocky,” George scoffed. “' _Ooh, I'm Dream, I've got 8 million subscribers, and I'll be at 10 mil by October'_.”

Clay chuckled at the Brit's horrible imitation of an American accent. But then George's name entered the room, and he zeroed in on his task. He inched out from under the portal and watched as George climbed the stairs in nothing but iron armor. Oh, this was too easy. George wasn't even questioning the lack of a silverfish spawner.

“Oh, Dream,” George snickered. “Guess what I'm doing?”

“Mm, I dunno.” Clay stood directly behind George and raised his sword. “I think that you're about to put pearls into the End Portal.”

George froze for half a second. Then he all but exploded. “ _WAIT, THE SPAWNER-_ ”

Too late. Clay knocked George off the portal, then dumped the bucket of lava right onto the Brit's head. He placed cobblestone on every side and watched in triumph as George jumped desperately.

“ _Dream!_ ” George shrieked. “Oh my god, oh my god, _I'm dying! Where's my water?!_ ”

 _GeorgeNotFound tried to swim in lava_.

Clay cackled with delight as George let out a frustrated scream. With a click, Clay turned his computer sound back on. A panicked donation immediately filled the air, but it was far too late.

“Ohhh, that was perfect,” Clay wheezed. “You're dead, George!”

George swiveled in his chair and punched Clay in the arm. Hard. “You're so stupid, Clay!” the Brit snapped. “You melted all my stuff! You can't even use it now!”

Clay was so pleased with his success that he didn't notice George's slip-up.

“I don't even care,” he said gleefully. “That was _so_ worth it.”

George heaved an annoyed sigh, leaning back against Clay's shoulder. He pressed his palms into his eyes and muttered profanities under his breath, just quietly enough that the mic wouldn't pick up his voice.

Clay chuckled, and before his brain caught up with his body, he leaned back as well. He dropped a hand onto George's arm and rubbed small circles with his fingertips. In a way, he was asking for forgiveness. George huffed another breath. But then, he placed his hand over Clay's. And for a moment, they just sat there, letting the adrenaline from an intense manhunt drain from their systems.

But wait, they were live, and _oh shit_ , Clay had forgotten that his camera was on.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ -

“Come on,” Clay chided, sitting up. It physically pained him to move away from the shorter man. “Let's start over! I'll get rid of all my items, and we'll have a rematch.”

George took a deep breath, then sat up as well. “Okay, okay,” he grumbled. “Just let me take a breath.” He leaned forward to look at the chat, which directed Clay's attention back to his fans. After a second of reading, George frowned. “Why are they spamming 'clay'?” he asked absently. “Clay wouldn't have saved me. Or-”

George cut himself off with a sharp inhale. He shot Clay a panicked look, but Clay waved a hand dismissively.

“They know my name,” he said quietly, leaning back to whisper into George's ear. “Don't worry. I'm not mad.”

Relief spread across George's face. He nodded slightly, then returned to his laptop.

The chat, however, wasn't willing to let it go so easily. They'd been stewing over everything in the stream thus far, and that little slip had made them explode. Everyone was asking when Clay and George had gotten so close, how long they'd been planning for George to fly out to Florida, why they were streaming together.

And as much as Clay liked to leave his fans guessing, he needed to give them some answers. Or else he wouldn't be left alone for weeks.

“A bunch of you are asking why I'm wearing a mask with my camera on.” Clay chuckled and tapped a corner of the mask. “The camera is just so you can see George's beautiful face. No face reveal yet. And don't be surprised that he knows my name, we are actually _friends_ , you know. We're not just pretending or something.”

“I don't know about that,” George muttered peevishly. He'd returned to his chair and was respawning.

Clay nudged George with his elbow. “You know you love me,” he purred. “Or you wouldn't be here.”

 _No, wait, that wasn't what he was supposed to say when they were live. And_ definitely _not in that tone-_

Luckily for Clay, George didn't think Clay's teasing was anything new. The Brit just mumbled an incoherent sentence and hunched further into his chair. Clay laughed breathlessly. That had been _way_ too intimate. He had to be more careful, he was streaming, for god's sake. There were no take-backs and no editing. And no Nick to make him seem a little less gay in comparison.

“I'm going to get a snack,” George sighed. He pushed his chair back into Clay's and stood, stretching for a moment before he wandered out of the office. “Don't you dare start without me.”

Clay raised his hands innocently, but George had already left the room. Clay glanced at his chat. Now was a perfect time to catch up on donations and see what his fans had to say. No doubt, they had some opinions.

“ _they'r_ _e so touchy what the hell_ ”

“ _simps_ ”

“ _JKGJSDKJFL_ ”

“ _he's blushing omfg_ ”

Clay flinched at that last one. Was he blushing? No, he wasn't. Was he? Clay glanced at his second monitor, where he had his stream open. Thanks to his mask, no one could see his face, but his neck was still evident above his black shirt. And it was flushed pink.

 _I'm never living this down,_ Clay thought miserably.

Clay's phone suddenly buzzed. He glanced at it, and the screen unlocked, revealing two texts from Discord.

 **Cowboi** : you two are being so fucking gay oh my god

 **Cowboi** : i'm actually glad that i'm not third-wheeling with you rn

Clay coughed to hide his wheeze. Luckily, he was saved by George reentering the room with a bowl of pretzels in hand. For a moment, the Brit paused behind Clay.

“What was that?” George asked.

Clay pushed his phone away from him with a finger. “Just Sapnap,” he said dismissively. “Are we doing this or not?”

George rolled his eyes and flopped back into his chair. “Yes, _sir_ , sitting down now.”

 _Definitely not living this down,_ Clay thought again. This stream was going to be infamous among the fanbase within the hour.

——————

George was so, _so_ close. After Clay's stunt at the End Portal, it had taken him another hour to get all the resources he needed once again. And he'd narrowly escaped death several times.

“Oh, _George,_ ” Clay purred. “Where are you, George?”

George shuddered. Clay always scared him when they were doing manhunts, regardless of whether he was the hunter or the hunted. Hearing it over his headset was unsettling. Hearing it from the man sitting next to him was a new kind of terrifying. George actually felt like he was racing for his life. It added an extra layer of tension to his shoulders and put him on a razor's edge. He had to be careful. Clay would utilize any mistake he made.

“You'll never find me, Dream,” George said, forcing a light tone. He was currently sneaking through a new stronghold, desperately trying to stay directly underneath Clay's character. “Dream” wandered around above him.

Clay chuckled, and goosebumps crawled up George's arms. Okay, it was truly _horrifying_ to hear Clay next to him. George was genuinely starting to fear for his life.

“You can't hide forever, George,” Clay crooned.

George didn't say anything. Clay's character was almost at the portal room... yes! George hurried into the room and cleared out the silverfish as quickly as he could. He inhaled shakily, then frantically pressed pearls into each empty space. The portal boomed to life, and Clay took a sharp breath.

“What was that?” the taller man demanded.

George breathed a relieved laugh and threw himself into the portal.

“ _No!_ ”

George didn't have a lot of time. He launched a pearl across the ravine and hit the ground running. He lifted his bow, frantically launching off arrows. His shots were careless, but that was why he'd made plenty of arrows. He'd known that he would have seconds at best.

“ _George!_ ”

_Dream made the achievement [The End?]_

“Come on, _come on,_ ” George hissed, almost like a prayer. That was the last star gone. Now he just had to take out the dragon before Clay could take him out.

Then something hit him in the back, and his health dropped by three hearts.

“ _No!_ ” George shrieked. He whipped around and lashed out with his sword. He managed to knock Clay back a step, giving himself enough time to sprint away. But in that split second, he had seen the enchanted diamond sword in Clay's grasp. How the taller man had an enchanted diamond sword was beyond him. But George didn't have time to think about that. The endermen were bearing down on him, and the dragon was constantly launching off fireballs. George was backed into a corner with nowhere to go.

Clay laughed manically. “Come here, George!” he shouted. “You can't escape!”

George really couldn't. Clay had trapped him at the edge of the island, at half health with no time to eat.

“You're a _dead man!_ ”

Clay was right, George couldn't beat the taller man in sword to sword combat. Nothing could save him anymore. His chances of redeeming himself and winning the manhunt were gone. But... maybe he could make sure that Clay wouldn't be able to savor the victory.

George whirled around and aimed his bow at the many endermen closing in. A second later, Clay's sword landed on his chest, tossing him off the island's edge. Clay began to howl his triumph, but George wasn't listening. This would make or break his efforts to thwart the taller man. One last shot. One last arrow.

The arrow sailed past Clay's head.

“You missed!”' Clay crowed gleefully. “It's over! _Again!_ ”

George held his breath. If this didn't work, he would be utterly humiliated. “Come on, come on,” he whispered again. “ _Please_.”

The dark silhouette of an enderman flew off the island's edge- colliding directly with Clay and sending him flying.

“ _What?!_ ”

“YES!” George threw himself back in his chair and pumped a fist in the air. “Oh my god, I _cannot_ believe that worked!”

Clay leaned into his desk and frantically mashed keys, flailing for a recovery. George didn't need to see his screen to know that he was dead, so he peered over Clay's shoulder and watched gleefully as the taller man tumbled into the abyss.

“Where's my pearl?” Clay muttered feverishly. “ _Where's my pearl-?!_ ”

_Dream fell off the edge of the world._

“NO!”

“Yes! Ye-e-es!”

Clay slammed his fists against the desk with a furious growl. George just laughed, basking in the glow of his victory. Well, half-victory. All that really mattered to him was that he hadn't given Clay satisfaction of truly winning the manhunt.

As if on cue, the taller man shoved himself away from the desk, clearly frustrated. In and of itself, George would have considered it a perfectly acceptable reaction to being cheated out of a satisfying manhunt victory. But there was one small problem. George was sitting next to Clay.

George only registered the sound of Clay growling before he was sent sprawling. One second, he was sitting upright in his chair, gloating. The next, he was on the floor, staring up at the ceiling with considerably less air in his lungs. Slowly, the black spots cleared from his eyes, and George registered the feeling of something heavy draped over him. George lifted his head a little and was greeted with the sight of ruffled, sandy blond hair.

When their chairs had gone down, Clay and George had been tangled up. Their legs were wrapped together, and Clay was half-draped across George's chest.

Unwanted sensations crept into George's mind before he could stop them. The warmth of the taller man. The feeling of Clay's chest rising and falling. The puff of a slow breath on George's neck.

George sucked in a small breath. God, he was drowning, Clay just felt so _good_ , and-

 _Focus!_ snapped the small part of George's brain that wasn't utterly falling apart. _You're streaming! Pull yourself together and sit up!_

George struggled to sit up. It was agonizing, but he still tried. He forced a laugh that came out a little weaker than he would have liked.

“You're not allowed to try to kill me in real life, Clay,” George chided.

The taller man shifted, rolling himself onto his side and effectively untangling them. George told himself that he shouldn't be disappointed, but it didn't work. The feeling of Clay flopped on top of him was imprinted into his brain, and George had the sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't go away any time soon.

Clay tipped his head towards George, a grin barely visible underneath his mask. “I'm still mad at you,” he chuckled. “I wanted to kill the dragon! But... that was pretty awesome.”

George giggled. Clay huffed a laugh, then sat up.

“I think that's it for today!”

Clay continued with his outro, so George sat up as well and took a moment to peer at the chat.

“ _first time with facecam and this is what happens?????”_

“ _they're dating stg_ ”

“ _aughhh I wish we could have seen that without Dream's mask_ ”

“ _his name is Clay?_ ”

“ _gay_ ”

“ _gogy_ _tell Dream you love him_ ”

Each comment hit a little closer to the mark than George would have liked.

“Alright, goodbye, everyone!” Clay said, his finger hovering over his mouse.

“Bye!” Reckless impulse flooded George's body. Before he could stop himself, George wrapped his arms around Clay's shoulders and tightly hugged the taller man. Clay laughed, and then the stream was over. George knew he'd see the results of his action on Twitter within minutes.

“What the hell did you just do,” Clay chuckled, with no real malice in his voice. “You know what's gonna happen now.”

George shrugged. He knew exactly what was going to happen. But he didn't really care.

Clay sank back down to the floor, crossing his legs and staring at his computer. “That was not how I expected that to go,” he mused.

“What, you didn't think you were going to get absolutely destroyed?” George snickered. He shot the taller man a cheeky grin.

Clay scoffed. “You did not destroy me. Not even a little.”

The Florida native pulled the mask from his face, and George's stomach rippled. It was eery to see Clay physically take off his trademark mask. It was like George was watching the taller man take off the Dream persona and become Clay again. But, as George had learned throughout the stream, “Clay” and “Dream” were one and the same. “Dream's” deviousness and nightmarish intelligence weren't some kind of act. Clay was just as smart and just as cunning. And, to a certain extent, just as terrifying.

It provided George with a strange sense of relief. Since the moment he'd stepped off the plane, he'd been harboring a fear that Clay would be an entirely different person from Dream. But the knots in George's stomach were starting to loosen. Dream was still Dream.

Well, George still had knots in his stomach. But that was because of totally different reasons. Reasons that were becoming glaringly obvious.

Clay nudged him in the ribs, and George snapped out of his thoughts. The reason for his knotted stomach was giving him a playful grin.

“What are you thinking about?” the taller man asked.

 _You,_ George thought. “That stream was so chaotic,” is what he said out loud.

Clay laughed and clambered to his feet. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But it was fun.”

The Florida native held out a hand. George happily accepted the help and hauled himself to his feet. Together, they picked up the fallen chairs and brought George's things back into the room. As George checked his suitcase to make sure that Patches hadn't stolen anything, his thoughts drifted back to the stream. It _had_ been fun. Much more fun than he'd expected.

George bit back a heavy sigh. Clay was quickly changing everything George considered normal. Being able to talk and laugh with Clay in person while playing Minecraft was amazing. Streaming with the taller man was amazing. Even something as simple as cereal tasted better when it was stolen from Clay's fridge. How on earth was George supposed to go back to being alone in England once this month was over?

A sigh drifted from the other end of the room. For a moment, George thought he had sighed without realizing it. Then he glanced up and found Clay staring at his monitors.

“What's wrong?” George asked.

Clay turned to look at him. But instead of a frown, the taller man wore a rueful smile.

“That move with the enderman was insane,” Clay chuckled. “How'd you even do that?”

George beamed. Praise from Clay was rare. Well, when it came to Minecraft, at least. “I don't even know,” he admitted. “I knew I couldn't stop you, so I just... went to my last resort. Arrows were all I had left.”

Clay shook his head. “I have to make a video out of that stream. Are you okay with that?”

George almost laughed. But Clay didn't smile, didn't laugh and say that he was joking. He looked dead serious. The laughter died in George's throat.

“I mean, of course,” George said slowly, struggling to form a sentence. “Do... do you really think it'd make a good video? Wouldn't it be your first stream highlights video?”

Clay crossed his arms. “Yeah, like a little bonus to the manhunt series. You were streaming too, right, just muted? Then, yeah, put our perspectives together, and we've got our next hit.” Clay hesitated for a moment. “And I think it should go on your channel.”

For a moment, George couldn't do anything but stare at the taller man. Clay was being serious. He was actually serious.

“My channel?” George repeated. The words were getting even harder to form. “But... why? You were the one streaming, mine was literally silent. Besides, that was the closest thing to a face reveal you've ever done. Why would this hypothetical video go on my channel?”

A big smile split Clay's face, finally cracking the solemn expression he'd been wearing. “Traffic, George,” he chuckled. “I _do_ have 8 million subscribers.”

George was reeling. Clay was really, truly genuine about his offer. He was willing to give up all the viewers that his channel would get from a “face reveal,” and for what? Just because? God knew that Clay was growing fast enough as it was, but still...

“You're unbelievable,” George said eventually. It was all he could think to say. “I really don't deserve you.”

Clay's smile slipped, though George had no idea why.

“No, George,” the taller man said quietly. “It's the other way around. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

Silence hung between them for a moment. Then Clay left the room, already talking about lunch or the weather or whatever his mind had moved on to. George was left standing in the middle of the office, barely breathing as he absorbed Clay's words.

_No, George. It's the other way around. I don't know what I'd do without you._

George's sore heart ached a little harder. He should be fine. But his uncomfortable not-crush hadn't gone away, and George had no excuses left to use. He couldn't say that it was just longing to see his best friend. He couldn't say that Clay just had a beautiful voice. His not-crush was a real crush. After the stream, there was no way he could deny it. Clay, the Dream Team's unofficial leader, current holder of at least one speedrun record, and rising star in the Minecraft community, had somehow caught George's heart.

Well, it wasn't all that surprising. Clay was... incredible. He was absolutely brilliant, with a stupid sense of humor and a ridiculous laugh. And now, George knew that Clay was gorgeous. There had been nothing left to protect George from the inevitable. Nothing left to protect him from what he already knew.

He had fallen hard for his beautiful best friend.

At least Clay was used to him being affectionate. If George carried on like usual, the Florida native wouldn't think anything was off. He would never notice that George was acting weird, and he would definitely never know that George had a stupid, little crush on him.

It didn't really help.

“Hey, beautiful.”

George flinched and looked up. Clay was standing in the doorway, leaning a hip against the doorframe.

“Are you gonna stand in here all day?” Clay chuckled. “C'mon, I'm making lunch.”

_Beautiful? What the hell-_

Clay took George's shocked silence as some sort of statement and sighed, grabbing George's hand and dragging him into the hallway. “You'll like it,” the taller man promised, his voice laced with mock annoyance. “Sandwiches. I'll make 'em however you want 'em.”

Finally, George found his voice. “We'll see,” he croaked.

God, he sounded as frazzled as he felt. But Clay just laughed and squeezed George's hand a little. Despite his desperate efforts, George's heart swelled, and a bright smile spread over his face.

_Hey, beautiful._


	4. Into the Depths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, updating again, with another 8200+ word chapter? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> I don't know where this inspiration is coming from, but I'm glad to have it! I had so much fun writing this chapter, I really hope that y'all can feel it. Especially Nick, he is such comedic gold pfft
> 
> Oh, I should probably tell you now... this chapter is about as "steamy" as it'll get. After all, Dream and George are real people, and there's only so far I'm willing to go. As stated in the tags, if you're looking for smut, you're in the wrong place. But there will be much more of "this" (in other words, the pining you all love so dearly) in future chapters ;) I think that makes up for it lol.
> 
> Enjoy!

Clay shot his phone a half-hearted glare. “Stop asking, Nick,” he ordered. “You can't fly down here.”

“Why not?” On the other end of the Discord call, Nick lounged on his bed. He somehow managed to look offended and sad at the same time. “Look, it's been forever since I've seen you, and I don't want to be left out! Like, it would be so cool to have us, the Dream Team, all in the same room, playing Minecraft! Or doing whatever! I just want to be there!”

If Nick had been serious, Clay would have felt bad about telling the younger man to stay in Texas. But Nick wasn't being serious. He had too much homework and too little time to go anywhere other than his college and his house. So Clay was perfectly fine with being a little protective of his time with George.

“No, he's mine,” Clay insisted. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

Nick went strangely silent. Clay glanced at his phone and found Nick giving him a look that Clay couldn't decipher.

“Where is George, anyway?” the younger man asked. “I mean, he's staying with you, right?”

Clay frowned. “Yeah, he's staying in my office. You okay, Nick?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just... thinking, I guess.”

Clay didn't push the subject. Nick had a lot on his plate; there were a thousand and one things that he could be thinking about. But Clay had a sinking suspicion that Nick wasn't thinking about his classes.

“Anyways.” Nick tossed a piece of popcorn into his mouth, and just like that, he was back to normal. “A whole month with Georgie. What do you have planned? I know you're going to do _something_ special with him.”

“Why do you care?” Clay chuckled. “It's not like you'll be here.”

“ _Tell me_.”

“Okay, okay. It's been rainy as hell for the past couple of days, so we just stayed inside. We streamed, you know how that turned out. We've been recording another video too, and it's so easy to just talk about the code. Like, you have no idea. And today...” Clay couldn't stop a smile from spreading over his face. “We're going to the beach. I don't think George has ever been, at least, I hope he hasn't. It'll be fun.”

Nick made a gagging motion. “Look at you two. Such a cute date.”

“It's not a date,” Clay snickered. “Are you jealous?”

“Duh. Two beautiful men, potentially shirtless, and I can't be there to see it? I'm fucking distraught.”

Clay laughed, but his stomach rippled nervously. He hadn't even thought about that. In most cases, going to the beach required one to take their shirt off. And Clay did not know how he was going to react to seeing George shirtless. It almost didn't feel right.

“You're blushing. What are you thinking about?”

“I'm not blushing!” Clay protested instantly. Then his brain caught up with what Nick had said, and he settled his voice back to a reasonable volume. “You're seeing things, Nick. I have my window open, the connection is bad, and you're basically blind. I'm not blushing.”

Nick fell silent again. This time, he leaned forward, examining Clay with a surprisingly perceptive gaze. “Were you thinking about George?”

“No.”

A blatant lie. Clay hadn't been able to stop that split second of hesitation that shattered his believability. Nick's gaze sharpened, like he was trying to pierce straight through Clay's walls and figure out what he was thinking. Clay didn't like that. Very rarely did he talk about his deepest feelings, not even to George or Nick. He preferred to keep those dark parts and strange emotions tucked deep within himself - especially feelings about his best friend.

Nick flopped back onto his bed. “I mean, he's cute,” he said absently. Once again, he acted like nothing had ever happened. “I think about him sometimes.”

“No, you don't,” Clay sighed. Thank god that Nick had let it go.

“Just like you don't.”

Ah, shit.

Clay turned to face his phone head-on. Nick was sitting up again, grinning with smug certainty.

“You think about him, don't you, Clay?” the younger man crooned. “I can see it all over your face. You want to see him shirtless, huh? You want a taste of that British bod?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Clay muttered. At least when Nick teased him, it was easier to deflect. “He's in the apartment, you know. He might hear you. The walls aren't that thick.”

“Uh huh. What's he doing now?”

“Taking a shower.”

Nick snorted. “Then why are you talking to me? Go hop in with him!”

Clay focused all of his attention on the clothes he was folding. He refused to think about anything beyond his bedroom. It was just him, Nick, and his laundry. Not George, not... where he was... Nope! Just his bedroom.

“You're disgusting,” Clay grumbled, tossing one of his shirts at his phone.

“Sure. Like you weren't thinking the same thing.”

“I wasn't until you said anything.”

“So you are thinking about George!”

Their conversation wasn't going in any direction that Clay found appealing. He was just about to make up a dumb excuse when he heard noises beyond the bedroom door. After a moment, he recognized the sound of George's voice and Patches' meows.

“George and Patches need me,” Clay said. He marched across his room and grabbed his phone, giving Nick a mock-apologetic smile. “Gotta go.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “You didn't even finish your laundry, asshole. But, sure, whatever, abandon me.”

Clay steadfastly ignored the pile of unfolded laundry on his bed. “I am abandoning you,” he chuckled. “Love you, Nick.”

“Love you too, talk to you later.”

Nick's face disappeared from the screen. Clay shoved his phone into his pocket and exited his bedroom. George and Patches were lying on the floor, George on his phone and Patches swatting at George's shirt sleeve. Neither seemed aware of Clay's presence at the door.

“Look at you, so full of energy,” Clay drawled.

George yelped and sat up, looking around wildly. When he saw Clay standing in the doorway, he sighed, collapsing back onto the floor. “Clay, you scared me,” he whined. “How the hell are you so quiet? I can't take two steps without making the floorboards creak. I feel like I'm going to wake up the whole complex.”

Clay chuckled and crouched next to the disgruntled Brit. “Don't insult my apartment, this is my home.”

George made a face. “Sorry that your home is so loud.”

On most occasions, Clay would have sassed him right back. But it was his misfortune that, at that moment, the bottom hem of George's shirt rode up a little and exposed a sliver of a pale stomach. Clay swallowed, his witty comebacks draining out through his feet. _George shirtless_. That wasn't a problem yet. It wouldn't be a problem until they got to the beach, then it would become a huge problem. But they weren't there yet. Clay didn't have to deal with that yet.

Clay pulled his eyes back to George's. The Brit's eyes were so expressive. He was gazing up at Clay with a mixture of lingering amusement and fondness. It would be so easy for Clay to just... lean over and kiss him on the nose.

No, wait, that wasn't allowed. That was _not_ allowed.

Clay sucked in a breath and stood. “You still want to go to the beach, right?” he asked.

George sat up with a brilliant smile. “Of course,” he laughed. “That's all you've been talking about since I got here. I literally _have_ to go now. And it looks like a beautiful day, at least to Florida standards."

“Alright,” Clay chuckled. “Let me get some stuff, then we can go.”

For the third time in as many minutes, George laid back down and returned his attention to his phone. “Take your time. I'm comfortable.” Patches grumbled a little and settled down onto George's chest with a quiet “mrr.” George shot Clay a small grin. “A little less comfortable now, but still. You don't have to hurry.”

Clay just shook his head and walked back into his bedroom. His mind raced ahead, figuring out what he had left to pack and how long it would take. Hmm, he should have gone to the store; he didn't have anything left in the fridge. No matter, if Clay had one talent, it was making a delicious meal out of scraps.

And then... they were heading to the beach. And Clay's inevitable demise.

——————

Clay was just like a little kid sometimes. He bounced around the kitchen, occasionally tripping over his own feet and smacking his hands on open cabinets. George had long since realized that the taller man was the superior cook, so he kept himself out of the kitchen. But George did allow himself to sit at the breakfast bar to watch the show.

“Clay, you live here,” George chuckled. “Why are you so excited to go to the beach?”

The taller man spun to face George, wearing a huge grin. “Have you ever been to a beach?” he asked. “Like, seriously. Not a lake, not a 'creek', or whatever the hell you have in England. A real, actual beach.”

George considered it. Maybe once, as a kid? No, that had been a lake in the mountains. What about that one weekend when his friends had dragged him off for a vacation? No... also a lake.

“No,” George said eventually.

Clay's grin widened, and he slammed his hands onto the counter. “That's why I'm excited!” he said gleefully. “Everyone I know has been to a beach, it's literally universal! And I get to take you on your first beach trip!”

Okay, yeah, George really liked the thought of that. Sharing the first memories of a new place with Clay sounded amazing.

“Wait.” Clay paused, hands hovering over some kind of strange vegetable. Slowly, he turned to face George. “Do you know how to swim?” he asked. “Like, actually swim, not just paddle?” He sounded horrified that he hadn't considered the thought sooner.

“Yes, Clay, I can swim,” George snickered. “I've been near water before, you know. England has pools and lakes, and 'creeks', as you called them.”

George did a horrible imitation of Clay's equally horrible British accent.

The taller man rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, just making sure. I don't want you to drown or something.”

“You'd just have to save me, then.”

Clay gave George a dangerous grin. “I could let you drown.”

“But you wouldn't.”

After a moment, Clay's grin softened into an unrepentant smile. “Yeah, of course, I'd save you. I'm not going to leave you alone, I hope you know that. You're going to have to deal with me following you around, all day long.”

George cocked an eyebrow. “What do you think I've been doing for the past five days?”

Clay chuckled and turned back to the strange vegetable. Conversation over, George pulled his phone out of his pocket. He found two new messages from Nick waiting for him. But, to his surprise, they were DMs.

George frowned and unlocked his phone.

 **Cowboi** : i didn't get a good morning text

 **Cowboi** : i'm starting to think that you're neglecting me for clay

George snorted. Leave it to Nick to make him worry over nothing.

 **britishboi** : Good morning

 **britishboi** : and I'm not neglecting you, I literally woke up and then took a shower

 **Cowboi** : clay told me

 **Cowboi** : that doesn't redeem you

 **Cowboi** : i want a good morning text

 **britishboi** : Clay told you I was taking a shower?

 **Cowboi** : you're missing my point

 **britishboi** : _Nick_

 **Cowboi** : yes, clay told me. we were talking earlier

 **britishboi** : you called without me? :(

 **Cowboi** : like you two didn't do it all the time. and now you're there and i'm not, so i'm allowed to talk to him. you have to share

_But I don't want to._

George froze. His fingers had typed out that message before he'd even thought of a reply. George hurriedly deleted the text, but the words still floating before his eyes, taunting him. Clay wasn't his to share as he pleased, Clay wasn't his at all! God, George had thought that his feelings had settled down, but now they were back in earnest.

George lifted his eyes from his phone. Clay was still busy making food, humming some song that George didn't recognize.

It would be nice to call Clay his. So, _so_ nice.

George's phone buzzed. He jumped and returned to his conversation with Nick. Little knots had formed in his stomach.

 **Cowboi** : do you understand that you have to share

 **Cowboi** : george

 **Cowboi** : _george_

 **Cowboi** : jesus christ

 **Cowboi** : i bet you're staring at him or some shit

 **Cowboi** : you're both such fucking simps

That was not what George had expected.

 **britishboi** : why would you even say that

 **Cowboi** : he was literally talking about you earlier

 **Cowboi** : i can't get a break from you idiots

 **Cowboi** : have fun at the beach i'm going back to sleep

George closed Discord feeling like he'd just been hit in the face with a water hose. What the hell had all that been about? Well, Nick was always that melodramatic, but he'd never mentioned Clay so much. And why hadn't he just texted on their server? It wasn't like there was anything in that conversation that George would hide from Clay.

Whatever. Nick was probably exhausted from staying up all night or something, and had been a little more snappish than usual. George would check up on him later.

Fifteen minutes later, Clay ran a hand through George's hair and tugged it lightly.

“Come on, we'll take my car.”

George looked around for a moment, disoriented, before his brain caught up and he grabbed his bag from the counter. “What, we can't walk to the beach?” he asked, following Clay to the door. “I thought we could walk everywhere in Florida.”

Clay only snorted in reply.

Within minutes, the two of them were situated in Clay's car and headed down the freeway. Clay lived close enough to the beach to see it from his living room, but it was still a ten minute-drive down to the beachfront. George gazed out the window as they drove. He loved the scenery. Florida was just so... alive. Even though Clay and Nick called his spectrum of vision “dull,” George didn't know anything else. Everything seemed so colorful and vibrant to him.

George glanced at Clay. The taller man was singing along to something on the radio, face stretched in a huge smile and eyes bright.

Clay was vibrant, too. Just as alive and beautiful as the state he lived in.

Jesus. George couldn't even imagine going back to England now. It was empty compared to the world George was currently living in. Clay wasn't in England, either. That put a further damper on returning.

Eventually, they pulled into a parking lot across from a row of houses. Clay launched himself out of the car with all the enthusiasm of a cooped-up puppy. He shoved coins into a machine at the front of the car, then dashed around to the trunk and threw it open. George spent a couple of seconds marveling at the taller man's speed before exiting the car himself. _Like a bat out of hell,_ he thought absently.

George looked around. It didn't look like they were anywhere near a beach. The parking lot they were in connected directly to a small park, which was virtually empty. Low houses surrounded them, and the street was quiet. George couldn't hear the ocean, and he certainly couldn't see it.

“Is it okay if I don't bring an umbrella?” Clay called, his head buried in the trunk.

George didn't know what good an umbrella would be against the might of the sun, but it didn't seem like a good time to ask.

“Yeah, that's fine,” he said. “What do you want me to carry? I have two free hands.”

Clay held out a bag without looking up from what he was doing. George took the offered bag and obediently slung it over his shoulder. Before he could repeat that he could carry more, or even ask where they were, Clay slammed the trunk shut. The taller man gathered up some bags of his own, grabbed a board with a cord attached to the top, and shot George a quick grin. Then he ran off towards the line of houses.

George sighed. It was like chasing a dog that had gotten off its leash.

As George watched, Clay disappeared in between two houses. George frowned and hurried to catch up. He made it to the buildings and realized that Clay hadn't decided to jump over someone's fence; there was a small path winding between the houses, leading to what looked like the beach. George jogged to the end of the alley and burst out onto soft sand.

The view was undoubtedly gorgeous, but George was a little more concerned with where Clay was. He couldn't afford to lose his best friend. Then a blur of movement caught George's eye, and he found Clay about halfway down the beach, laying out a towel.

“You certainly had places to be,” George commented dryly, once he got within earshot.

Clay straightened and shot George a bright grin. “Yeah, I wanted to get a perfect spot.” George scoffed, and the taller man raised an eyebrow. “You don't think it was worth it? Okay. Just look at our view, then tell me that it wasn't worth running, like, a hundred steps.”

George dramatically dropped his bag from his shoulder, then turned towards the ocean.

It was breathtaking.

The ocean was a beautiful, crisp blue, ruffled with white spray. It was so, so clear. If he squinted, George could almost see the ocean floor. Further out, waves crashed into each other with magnificent power, and people-shaped specks could be seen riding immense waves. And beyond the waves... there was nothing. Nothing but an infinite spread of the same, beautiful water.

George had never seen anything so incredible. He swallowed his pride and nodded once. “It's worth it,” he breathed.

Clay's face softened. “I'm glad you like it.”

The Florida native slung an arm around George's shoulders, pulling him against his side. George went without complaint. For a quiet moment, they just stood there, watching the waves.

Clay was so close, so... real. George hesitated a moment, then gently rested his head against Clay's shoulder. The taller man just squeezed him tighter. George's throat clenched with a mix of emotions that he couldn't even begin to sort out. All the feelings that comprised his uncomfortable crush were there, but there was also a strange sense of longing. He just wanted to stand there with Clay for a little longer. And... maybe even a bittersweet joy. This wouldn't last forever. England was already looming over him.

As if he could read minds, Clay pressed his nose into George's hair. “Hey, relax,” he murmured. “One day at a time.”

George nodded slightly. Clay huffed a laugh, and their peaceful moment came crashing down. They were too close, they were _way_ too close. George had almost started to wrap his arm around Clay's waist, and everything was just _wrong_. George was many things, but strong was not one of them. The idiotic crush he'd developed had lulled him into a false sense of security, and now, they were _just too close_. The worst part was... George didn't mind. He was supposed to be telling himself to stay away from Clay, to keep a friendly distance between them. But George wasn't. And he didn't want to. He didn't want the friendly distance anymore; he wanted _this_.

Something in the universe took pity on George then, as Clay released George from their hug before George said a word.

“Alright,” the Florida native muttered, half to himself. “Let's get sunscreen on so we can get in the water.”

George frowned, watching as Clay crouched and opened one of the bags. He was feeling cold without Clay's arm around him, but he wasn't going to focus on that. “Aren't you supposed to let sunscreen dry before you get in the water?” he asked. George would be the first to say that he knew nothing about being at the beach, but even _he_ knew that most sunscreen wasn't waterproof.

“You're adorable, George,” Clay chuckled.

Even though it was clearly meant to be derogatory, George couldn't help but smile. Their hug made everything seem a little brighter.

A couple of minutes later, the two of them had fully settled in. Their towels were set out on the sand, the bags were piled to one side, and both their phones were safely tucked away with the snacks. However, Clay had insisted on making one last tweet before he officially disconnected. It simply read, “your hair looks nice in the sun @georgenootfound.” Given the infamous nature of their latest stream, George could imagine the type of chaos they would return to.

Then Clay held up a spray bottle, and George shied away.

“Do I _have_ to put on sunscreen?” George whined. He wanted to delay taking his shirt off for as long as possible.

Clay rolled his eyes. “No, but you'll hate life for the next week if you don't. Look, just put some on. You're white as hell, George, you're going to burn in like, five minutes. And I don't want you to start peeling or some shit.”

George hesitated for a moment, then gingerly took the bottle. Clay chuckled and pulled his shirt over his head.

The most accurate way to depict George's thought process is to imagine someone walking straight into a streetlight, somehow managing to get back onto their feet, then getting knocked over the head with a baseball bat. When coherent thought finally returned to George's mind, the only thing he could think was, _I'm fucked. I'm so fucked_.

George's initial suspicions were correct. Clay was indeed very fit and very lean. He wasn't ripped, but somehow, that just made him look more athletic. He was perfectly fit for his body type, from his toned shoulders to his slim hips. And god, why did he have to have all those little freckles along his arms?

Clay stretched his arms over his head, and George looked away. He couldn't take it. Already, his mind was racing, making it impossible for him to keep his thoughts straight. If it was physically possible, George's nose would have been bleeding.

 _He's so hot, he's so hot, what the fuck_ -

It was truly unfair. One of the most beautiful men George had even met, with an equally beautiful personality, and he was George's platonic best friend. What had George done in a past life to get shanked so hard?

George took a deep breath. His turn. He exhaled sharply and shed his shirt. He didn't like his body very much. He wasn't overweight, but the opposite was just as bad. He was painfully thin, with barely any muscle and just enough fat to not look emaciated. It wasn't that George didn't work out. He did, and he was rather proud of what he could do in the gym. But his body didn't retain any sign of his efforts.

George just had to hope and pray that Clay didn't think he looked disgusting. Especially after seeing what the taller man looked like.

George sprayed the sunscreen over his skin, squirming at the unnatural chill. Once he'd reached everything he could, he held the bottle out to Clay.

“Get my back,” he ordered. “I can't reach it.”

Clay snickered, but did as he was told. George hissed as cold assaulted his exposed skin once again. He still hadn't looked Clay in the eye since the taller man had taken his shirt off. George wasn't really looking forward to it, either. His thoughts were still a little too gay for his liking.

A blast of unusually cold sunscreen hit George's lower back, and he let out an involuntary yelp.

“You're so sensitive,” Clay said, continuing to snicker.

George didn't bother responding.

A few minutes later, Clay decided that he had dried enough and went splashing into the ocean. He dove into the waves like he was being welcomed home. And honestly, George wasn't surprised. Clay's dive had been unreasonably graceful, and he swam like he'd been born amongst the waves.

George glanced at the water lapping around his feet. He wasn't scared of the ocean. But he wasn't comfortable just jumping in like Clay had. For all he knew, the ocean would know that he wasn't a native and swallow him whole. Florida had never been known for its accommodating nature.

“Hey. You okay?”

George had been so wrapped up his thoughts that he hadn't noticed Clay come back to shore. The taller man sloshed out of the water, his hair slicked to the side and a goofy grin plastered across his face.

“I'm alright,” George said, as evenly as he could. He tapped the edge of the water with a toe. “It's just... it's warm. It's weird.”

Clay looked at George for a long moment, head cocked to the side. George tried not to shiver under the laser-intense gaze. He already felt a little self-conscious, and he didn't need that kind of attention.

Finally, a crooked smile broke Clay's curious expression. “It's okay that you're nervous,” he said gently. He rested a hand on George's arm, light enough that George couldn't stop a shiver this time. “We don't have to go out super deep. We can just stay here, splash around in these waves. I've been here hundreds of times. I'm fine not going out to swim with the sharks.”

Panic spiked George's heart rate. “There are sharks out here?” he demanded.

Clay winced. “Bad analogy. But I'm serious. I'm sticking with you, I promise.”

The taller man took two steps into the ocean, then turned back and held out a hand. George stared at the offered hand for a moment. _This is so cliché,_ he moaned internally. _I'm going to die today, either from shame or fucking sharks_.

“Just for you, Clay,” George muttered. He took the hand and sloshed into the waves. The strange warmth of the water immediately crept up his legs, but Clay's quiet chuckle made up for the unusual feeling.

“Just for me?” the taller man repeated, a shit-eating grin on his face.

George sighed. “Yes, just for you. I wouldn't be here for anyone else.”

Clay chuckled, dragging George further into the ocean by their interlaced hands. “Aw, that's sweet. I thought that you went to the beach with every stranger that picks you up from the airport.”

George responded by splashing Clay in the face.

——————

Clay was not ready to see George shirtless.

He'd known that it would difficult. Really. And he'd tried to prepare for the event by just not thinking about it. He'd even told himself that George with a shirt had to be better than George without a shirt (and yes, he knew that made no sense). But when it came down to it, Clay just wasn't ready.

The Brit was skinnier than Clay had first thought. But he was lean, with the faint outline of abs along his stomach. His hips were sharp and defined, and his skin was as smooth as his hair.

Clay didn't like to judge people solely on their bodies. He considered it shallow, and personality was ultimately more important to him. But, looking back on the memory of first seeing George shirtless, he would justify his thought process because he already knew the Brit. The shirtless thing was just a nice bonus.

Regardless, Clay was rendered slack-jawed. Nothing he told himself could change that.

George dropped his shirt next to him and started to use the sunscreen. Clay took a couple of steps away to avoid the spray, but it also gave him some valuable breathing room. George's mere presence was suffocating him.

Clay felt guilty for staring. But... Jesus. George was genuinely hot. Clay had already marked him down as adorable, cute, and lovable; those had been no brainers. How had he suddenly become hot?

Really, Clay shouldn't have been shocked. George was just one surprise after another.

“Get my back,” George ordered. Clay snapped out of his thoughts and found the Brit holding out the bottle of sunscreen. “I can't reach it.”

Clay took the bottle and did as he was told. Out of respect for George, he kept his eyes fixed solely on his task. But god, was it challenging to stay on track.

An hour later, Clay had managed to coax George out into the shallows and keep him there. The Brit stood up to his stomach, enjoying the small waves. Once he'd gotten over his initial distrust of the ocean, he'd quickly relaxed and gotten comfortable with splashing around. True to his promise, Clay had stuck by the Brit's side the whole time. And, really, Clay didn't mind at all. He would much rather be by George's side than out in the middle of the ocean by himself.

Eventually, George worked up the courage to float. He drifted aimlessly, eyes closed.

“You know a wave could come at any second, right?” Clay asked mildly.

George didn't even open an eye. “Yeah. And?”

Clay chuckled. “You're putting way too much trust in me.”

“No, you're trustworthy. You won't let anything happen to me.”

That was absolutely true, but Clay would never say that out loud. He looked around. There were no waves in sight. There were barely even any people; most were out surfing the waves. They basically had the beach to themselves.

“Do you know that most beaches aren't like this?” Clay blurted. He immediately wanted to take the sentence back, but George had sat up and was looking at him curiously.

“Really?” the Brit asked. “I thought we just got lucky.”

 _This is so stupid,_ Clay thought desperately. _Why did I even say anything?_

But he had committed to his story.

“You know the beaches you see in movies? Yeah, that's what most of them are like, especially on a Saturday. Literal hell on earth. Packed with people, super loud, it's impossible to ride a wave- anyways, my great-grandpa got sick of people clogging up the beaches, so he decided to find his own beach. He stumbled on this place, and since then, it's been passed down through the family. I use to come here all the time as a kid, even when I was in high school. It's a local spot, y'know?”

George's eyes were bright, and Clay had to bite back a shy smile. This story really was stupid, but it was nice to see that George was so interested.

“Why am I here if it's a local spot, then?” the Brit asked.

Clay poked George in the arm. “'Cause you're my guest. We always take our 'foreign' friends out here. It's a tradition, since we basically have the beach to ourselves. Think about it, if you haven't followed me, you wouldn't have known that this place exists, huh?”

George thought for a moment, then shook his head. “You certainly know how to impress a 'foreigner',” he chuckled. “I can't believe that Nick never told me about this place. I would have thought that he'd rub a secret beach that only the locals know about all in my face.”

Oh, _shit_.

“Uhm...” Could Clay talk his way out of this? No... the truth was better. “Nick's never been here.”

George raised an eyebrow. “But he's flown out here, like three times.”

“Yeah, and we hang out. But he's never been here.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

A jumble of emotions flew over George's face. Clay swallowed his nerves and prayed that George didn't think he was acting weird. The truth was that Clay had brought George to this beach because it was part of his childhood, part of his whole life. There were a million other secluded beaches that they could have gone to. But Clay had wanted to share this one – as sappy as that was.

And then, George gave him a brilliant smile.

“That's really sweet, Clay,” the Brit giggled. “I mean it. Thanks for taking me out here.”

Clay's heart squeezed. Oh Christ, why did his best friend have to be so damn cute? His cheeks heated under George's smile, and his stomach curled into happy little knots. Clay just wanted to hug George as tightly as he could.

But he couldn't. He wasn't supposed to be in love, and this wasn't how this month was supposed to go.

Clay glanced beyond George's beautiful face, and a tinge of mischievousness crept into his mind. “A wave is coming,” he said, as mildly as he had the first time.

“ _What?!_ ”

George whirled around, and for a split second, Clay could see the sheer panic on his face. Then he was hidden under a face-full of water. The wave wasn't very big, but it was enough to knock the Brit off balance. Clay caught George with one arm and braced himself against the deluge. Once it was gone, Clay couldn't help but laugh at George's disheveled appearance.

“Clay, I hate you,” George spluttered. He shoved out of Clay's grasp, and Clay let him go without a fight. “Why didn't you warn me?”

“You don't hate me,” Clay chuckled. “Or you wouldn't be here, remember?”

George shot Clay a half-hearted glare. “I'm still allowed to hate you, even though I flew out here.”

Something in George's annoyed look sparked a little more mischievousness in Clay's mind. He took a slow step towards the Brit, hands held out placatingly.

“Just tell me you love me, George,” he whined, shuffling a couple of steps closer. “You can hate me later, just say it once now. I mean, we're out here, in Florida, by ourselves. No one else will hear you. Please?”

A slight blush crept over George's cheeks. Clay bit back a smile. Oh, it was so much more fun to tease George when the shorter man was right in front of him.

“I love you, Clay.”

...what?

Then a wave hit Clay in the face, and he was bowled over. For a second, all he knew was sand and water and bubbles. Then he was tossed onto his back, and his lungs quickly removed all the saltwater that he had tried to breathe.

It fucking figured. For years, Clay had tried to get George to say that he loved him. It had worked, eventually, but George was always bashful about it. And now, he said it like it was nothing. Unbelievable. Why did Clay even like George, again? Was there a reason? Or had they just become friends, and now they were destined to be YouTube partners for the rest of their lives?

George suddenly appeared above Clay, giggling quietly.

“You alright, there, Clay?” he asked innocently.

“Go away,” Clay grumbled.

George giggled even more and held out a hand. Clay smacked it away. He was mostly teasing, but he was also kind of embarrassed.

“Aw, c'mon, Clay,” George said, mimicking the whine that Clay had used. “Don't say that you hate me. Just tell me you love me.”

“Fuck you.”

A crooked grin spread over George's face. “Maybe later.”

Clay coughed. His nerves exploded at the tips, he couldn't feel his fingers anymore-

“Maybe later?” he repeated. He'd meant to say it mockingly, to try to hide how frazzled he felt. But it came out as a croak.

George burst out laughing. He stumbled out of Clay's line of sight, his shoulders still shaking with laughter. Clay inhaled deeply and tried to compose himself. But his head was spinning, and he couldn't move without feeling like fireworks were going off in his stomach. Christ, he couldn't think straight. The way George had said “maybe later,” the grin he'd been wearing-

Hot. George was definitely hot. And Clay would be a liar if he said he didn't completely love it.

“Clay, get up, I'm hungry!”

Clay reluctantly sat up. George was plopped on his towel, legs sprawled out and shoulders tilted back to the sun. Clay's stomach did several more somersaults, but this time, he just smiled. That was why he liked George so much. His gorgeous smile, ridiculous personality, slim physique. Everything.

“Okay, okay, I'm coming,” Clay chuckled. He picked himself up and joined George on their towels. “So, that means you want lunch now?”

George rolled his eyes. “No, Clay, I just said I'm hungry for fun.”

Clay acknowledged the sarcasm with a tip of his head and pulled two wrapped packages out of his bag. He gave one to George, then settled onto his own towel and watched as the Brit unwrapped the foil. George's eyes got wider and wider as he revealed his lunch.

“What is this?” George asked, almost reverently.

“Egg rolls,” Clay chuckled. “With a salad. It's not my best work, but I hope you like it.”

“Mhmm,” George mumbled around a mouthful of food. He made a face, then swallowed with an embarrassed smile. “This is delicious. When did you get so good at cooking? You're just, like, a god.”

Clay popped an egg roll into his mouth and considered the question. “I don't know,” he admitted. “I've always loved cooking. I got a ton of recipes from friends and family over the years, and I kinda made a list in my head. Like, what to do, what not to do. I don't know, I like eating good food. And I decided I wanted to know how to make good food too. It's fun to cook for other people.”

George bit into another egg roll with a happy sigh. “I'm definitely getting the better end of this deal,” he chuckled. “You're not getting rid of me now. And you're definitely going to have to teach me how to cook before I leave.”

_Can I have both?_

“I'll show you a couple of things while you're here,” Clay agreed.

George beamed at him, and Clay's chest squeezed. What was he going to do once George left? Calls and texts paled in comparison to having the Brit right in front of him, close enough to touch. Clay was just a touchy person. He wanted contact.

And when it came to George... he couldn't get enough.

Clay glanced at his best friend. George was staring out at the ocean, eyes wide with joy and mouth quirked in a smile. He was beautiful. Inside and out. Clay was only going to have George with him for three more weeks. He had to savor every moment they had together.

Clay put a hand on George's arm. The Brit didn't even react; he just kept smiling out at the ocean.

“George?” Clay ventured.

The Brit turned to look at him, and Clay's throat closed up. He couldn't say it. He couldn't say anything that he wanted to say. It was too sappy, too intimate. He'd already promised that he wouldn't do anything to make George uncomfortable. God knew that the shorter man wasn't as naturally affectionate as Clay was.

But if he kept his words bottled up, he would forever regret it.

“I'm glad you're here,” Clay said, after a moment.

George's smile grew wider. “You don't have to butter me up, Clay,” he chuckled. “I love your cooking, and the beach is amazing.”

“I'm not trying to butter you up,” Clay protested. Confusion flickered in George's eyes, and Clay took a deep breath. “I'm just... I'm really happy you're here. Like, actually here. It was... it was getting hard to not see you. I mean, I saw you, obviously, but... this means a lot to me, you flying out here. Thank you. For staying with me.”

It was one of the most awkward speeches Clay had ever given. Jesus, he should have just stayed quiet.

But a brilliant smile spread across George's face. He put his hand over Clay's and squeezed it lightly.

“Thank you for having me,” George said softly. “This has already been one of the best weeks of my life. You've given me a place to stay, shown me around.” George chuckled and popped another egg roll in his mouth. “The cooking enough has been worth it.”

Clay laughed a little. George hadn't really gotten the meaning behind his words, but that was good enough for him. At least he'd said something.

“Clay?”

George was still looking at him, but his expression had changed slightly. Clay frowned and started to ask what was wrong, but he never got the question out. George leaned forward and wrapped Clay in a tight hug.

Clay's heart stuttered in his chest. Carefully, he hugged George back. He waited for the Brit to pull away, just like most people did after a couple of moments. But George didn't. In fact, once Clay hugged him back, George snuggled against Clay's chest. Clay tried to form a coherent thought, but everything was melting into a mess of happiness and peace, easing an ache present in Clay's chest since George's arrival. This was what Clay wanted. George, clinging so, _so_ tightly to him.

 _I shouldn't be doing this,_ Clay thought weakly. He knew he was slipping into bliss, and if Clay let himself relax, he'd never let George go again. _George is just giving me a hug. He doesn't think anything of it. I have to let him go, I'm not thinking straight._

“You're warm,” George murmured.

_Fuck, stop being so cute._

“I run hot,” Clay croaked. _I have to let go. I have to let go._

_...I'm not letting him go._

Clay gave in and held George as close as he could. The Brit let out a content hum, and Clay's insides turned into mush. His heart hammered in his chest, egged on by adrenaline and ecstasy and _so_ much longing. He closed his eyes and breathed out. How many years had he known his best friend? At least three. And in all that time, they'd never been together in person.

He could hold George close for a while. Even though he knew it would be the last time he'd ever let himself do so.

——————

The sunlight was making George sleepy. He was probably getting a bad sunburn, but he really didn't want to move. He didn't want to do much of anything except stay where he was and relax.

Then someone flopped next to him, and George cracked an eye. Clay had collapsed onto his towel and was drying off his shoulders, still grinning wildly. George's stomach rippled for a moment before he could get his feelings under some semblance of control.

“Good waves?” he asked.

Clay beamed. “Very good waves,” he chuckled. “It's so nice out there! It's been a while since I've gone boogie boarding.”

George laughed. He hated the idea of riding a wave stuck on nothing but a flimsy piece of... whatever boogie boards were made out of. Who had even come up with that name? Whatever. As long as it made Clay happy. George was terrified to even touch the boogie board.

“You could try it once, you know. I'd help you.”

As much as George liked the idea of Clay teaching him how to boogie board, he could resist his carnal nature for his safety.

“I'm good,” George drawled. Clay sighed dramatically, and George whacked the taller man's arm. “Look, not all of us were born in the water and taught how to wrangle a shark before they could even walk. I'm too scared to just jump into that."

Clay chuckled and shook his head, but he didn't press the subject. George was glad for it. The ocean was scary enough as it was, and he didn't need any extra variables threatening his life. Though he had to admit, the beach was quickly becoming one of his favorite places in the world. And no, it wasn't just because Clay was with him. The constant sound of the rolling waves and the dazzling blue of the sky made George feel at peace. Like he couldn't be touched by the problems of the world.

In his relaxed state, George started to drift away from the beach and into the realm of sleep. With his mental walls slipping into darkness, his mind wandered wherever it pleased. The beach. The water. The sky. Clay.

Their hug.

George's eyes snapped open, but it was too late. A fierce blush spread across his cheeks as he relived what had been the best moment from his week's stay. Clay had held onto him so tightly, he'd been so warm... and he hadn't let go of George until both of them had almost fallen asleep. George would never admit it out loud, but he hadn't wanted to move from Clay's arms. When they'd finally broken apart, after Clay had actually nodded off, George had felt cold.

“Stay here for a sec.”

“What?” George asked, startled out of his head.

Clay was on his feet, heading towards the street. “I said, stay there,” he chuckled. “I'm just going to get something.”

“What's the something?” George called after the taller man's retreating form.

“Just wait!”

Clay disappeared around a building, and George snorted. Knowing Clay, he had seen a grill and was somehow going to bake a cake on it, just to show off. The taller man's talent for cooking really did astound him.

George settled himself back onto his towel. Yeah, Florida was turning out to be a much better place than he'd expected. He could get used to it.

He wanted to get used to it.

“Hey, handsome, wake up.”

George blinked blearily, and he realized that he'd fallen asleep. Clay was standing over him, holding something in each hand.

“Handsome?” George repeated, shading his eyes from the sun.

Clay winked. “Well, yeah. You are.”

George decided to pretend that he hadn't heard Clay, for the sake of his sanity.

The taller man plopped back onto his towel and held out one of the things he'd been carrying. It was a perfectly swirled ice cream cone.

“Cookies and cream,” Clay explained. “If you don't like it, you can have this one. It's just vanilla dipped in chocolate.”

George's heart soared. “I love Oreo,” he said softly. “I can't believe you remembered that.” He accepted the ice cream cone and took a moment to just look at it. It was absolutely perfect. “I have to get a picture of this.”

George pulled his phone from his bag, ignoring Clay's laughter. He took his picture and started to put his phone away. But then, he glanced at his best friend. Clay was still chuckling to himself, gazing out at the ocean with his ice cream cone in hand. As subtly as he could, George took a picture of Clay. The taller man didn't seem to notice.

“Are you done with your photoshoot yet?” Clay asked, giving George a crooked smile.

George rolled his eyes. “Yes, I'm finished.”

He settled onto his towel and began enjoying his ice cream. The sun was already dipping towards the horizon, and muted shades of light were starting to reflect off the distant ocean. George wasn't sure how many hours they'd spent at the beach, but he knew he'd be sunburnt the next day. It had been worth it, though. So worth it.

“Hey, Clay?” George asked.

“Hmm?”

“Can we go home soon? I'm too white to be out here for much longer.”

Clay burst out laughing. “Yeah, we can go,” he wheezed, still giggling to himself. “I'm not gonna make dinner tonight, I'm exhausted. Pizza sound good?”

George nodded eagerly. “Sounds good.”

They finished their ice cream cones, then packed up their bags. It was a quick process, and within ten minutes, they'd loaded up Clay's car and were heading back into town. They decided to go straight to the pizza parlor since they were both starving. George had never realized that swimming took so much out of a person.

When Clay pulled up to the parlor, George was ready to launch himself out of the car just to get to food quicker. But the Florida native kept the doors locked.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” Clay asked, a little too innocently.

George glared at him. “What? What am I forgetting, Clay?”

“A shirt.”

Oh. George had gotten so used to not wearing a shirt at the beach that he'd forgotten the societal code of conduct. That was a little disconcerting.

But before he could even feel embarrassed, Clay looked him up and down. There was an edge in his gaze that George was certain he had imagined. It had to be his stupid crush talking, because it had almost looked like Clay was checking him out.

“Yeah, grab your shirt,” Clay said, stepping out of the car. “I can't keep you to myself if everyone else is staring at you.”

The Florida native closed the driver's side door and headed for the trunk. George, however, didn't move. He didn't blink, he didn't breathe.

Was Clay... being possessive of him?


	5. Confessions in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back with a 12k word chapter! 
> 
> ...I don't know what happened either. Each time I write a new chapter, they get longer and longer. But, hopefully, y'all like it! I loved writing this one, and it's probably my favorite so far lol. 
> 
> As always, disclaimer, I'm just here to make you guys smile! Don't take what I'm writing seriously!
> 
> Oh, and one more thing... Thank you so much for all your support! I'm so glad that y'all love this little side project, and your kudos and bookmarks and comments mean the world to me! I know I never respond to comments, but I keep them all in a folder so I always have something sweet to look at :')
> 
> And now, back to your regularly scheduled dnf fluff :D 
> 
> Enjoy!

George glared at the pile of plastic bags on the dining room table. He swept them aside with a vicious sweep and found yet another dirty plate staring up at him. George growled, frustrated, and turned his glare on his host. “I don't know how you live like this!” he shouted. “I'm amazed you have any actual ceramics left! Is this why you buy paper plates in bulk?”

Clay, who hadn't shifted from his place on the couch throughout George's rant, raised his hands defensively. “Hey, I live alone,” he said evenly. “Patches doesn't need a plate, and I'm fine with paper plates.”

George chucked one of the plastic bags at the taller man, but, being a plastic bag, it just fell to the ground with a low whoosh. George ignored Clay's howling laughter and gathered up the stack of plates that he'd amassed in his search, carefully shuffling back into the kitchen. He swore that he had Clay's entire collection of china next to the sink.

“Wait, are you gonna wash them right now?”

George glanced over his shoulder and met Clay's curious gaze.

“Of course I'm doing them all right now,” George replied, a little confused. “Why would I wait? There's literally no dishes left except for, like, one glass.”

Something that could have been guilt flashed over Clay's face. “You don't have to do them all.”

George pointed at the taller man with a knife. “Yes, I do. Don't you dare go back on our deal. Besides, I want to eat off an actual plate. If I have to butter my toast while it's sliding around on a paper plate one more time, I'm going to stab something.”

A fond smile spread over Clay's face. “Fine,” the Florida native sighed dramatically. “If it makes you feel better.”

George laughed and returned to his task.

It had been a week and four days since George had arrived in Florida. There had been a few adjustments they'd both had to make, but for the most part, George and Clay got along perfectly. After spending so many hours on calls together, they could talk nonstop or be comfortable sitting in silence. That was probably the best way to describe it: a very comfortable arrangement.

Of course, there had been a couple of bumps. They both stayed up late, but Clay was a true night owl, while George tried to get to bed at a reasonable time. They just had to be a little quieter at their respective “alone” times. Clay also took longer showers, so their slightly offset schedules worked well. And George was perfectly happy with the extra $20 he'd earned, once they'd tested their bet. The only adjustment that had really impacted George was that he had to wear headphones when listening to music because Clay preferred to work in silence.

It was all small things. Overall, George couldn't have imagined them getting along any better. He was finally starting to feel like he _knew_ his best friend. All of Clay's mannerisms, his tastes, his voice when no one else was around-

A presence suddenly appeared at George's side, startling him out of his thoughts.

“That's a lot of bubbles,” Clay murmured. He hooked his chin over George's shoulder and leaned into his personal space. “Are you sure you didn't use too much soap?”

George swallowed and fought back a shiver. That was also something he'd had to adjust to. Clay was a very, _very_ physical person. He had no concept of boundaries, often getting more intimate than George was used to from absolutely anyone else. That wasn't to say that George wasn't a physical person (he was, and contact with Clay left him smiling for hours). But given the unfortunate nature of George's feelings, his brain liked to twist Clay's proximity into something more. Even though it wasn't.

Yes, George was still trying to make his damned feelings go away. He was starting to get a little desperate.

“I did two pumps like you told me to,” George said, with as much scorn as he could muster.

Clay hummed, and the vibration traveled along George's neck. He reflexively curled the fingers on his right hand to keep from shaking. _Damn_ his feelings. Sometimes, George just wanted to smack himself with a pillow until they went away.

“No, I think you put too much soap in.”

Without any further warning, Clay plunged his hand into the sink. Water flew everywhere, and George yelped as the front of his shirt was drenched with soapy suds. He tried to scramble away from the sink, but Clay's other hand appeared at the small of his back, keeping him in place. If George hadn't been so annoyed, he might have blushed.

“Yup, this is too much!” Clay said cheerfully. “There shouldn't be this many bubbles! They're up to my elbow!” He splashed his hand around more, as if to prove his point.

“Clay, you asshole!” George howled.

The front of his shirt now clung to his chest, completely soaked through. George tried to push Clay away, but the taller man planted his feet with a smug grin.

Alright, fine. Two could play at this game.

George cupped his hands and dropped them into the sink. He heard Clay inhale sharply, and he grinned wildly. Time for payback. He spun on his heel and dumped his handful of water onto the taller man's chest.

“What the hell?!” Clay stumbled away, swiping at his shirt.

George laughed delightedly and backed up to the far counter, as far away from Clay as he could get. For a long moment, the Florida native stared down at his shirt incredulously. Then he looked up at George and scowled. Mild horror bubbled up in George's throat as Clay started to advance on him.

“Really? That's how you treat me?” Clay demanded. He crowded George into the counter and jabbed a finger into his face. Despite his intimidating stance, a smile cracked his serious expression. “After everything I've done for you, you screw me over like this?”

George stuck his chin up. “That was payback for everything you've put me through,” he said primly. “Getting my shirt wet, doing the laundry when I'm taking a shower, leaving me on read- and especially for trying to make yourself seem like the good guy when I let myself be _electrocuted_ for everyone's entertainment.”

Clay's eyes narrowed. “What, that's how it's gonna be?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.”

Clay stared at George for a long moment, and suddenly, George became aware of their position. They were barely inches apart, George slightly bent over the counter with Clay leaning over him, the taller man balancing himself with a hand next to George's hip. Clay's eyes were locked on his with laser intensity, and their legs were almost touching. Somehow, their play fight had gotten them into a very... compromising position.

George's mouth went dry. Clay's eyes were so bright and hypnotic, swirling with shades of what George knew was green. _Kiss him,_ his brain whispered. _No!_ George snapped back desperately. But Clay was so close, and his cheeks were dappled with those adorable freckles, and George was shaking, he could feel it. Why couldn't he get his fucking emotions under control?!

Then, before George could even blink, Clay stepped away from him, dunked a hand into the sink, and brought it back with vicious speed. A strange mixture of chill and warmth assaulted George's skin, and he stifled a shocked gasp. At least his head was clear again.

“Don't mess with me, Georgie,” Clay said, clearly delighted with their game. “I don't play nice.”

George scowled, and the taunts dug under his skin with a familiar prick. God, Clay could be insufferable. George needed a whole crowd of people to count how many times Clay had bothered him. But this time, he wasn't thousands of miles away. They were right in front of each other, and George had so many ways he could retaliate.

Why not be the cocky one for once?

George caught Clay's wrist, stopping the taller man short. Clay's mask of cool amusement cracked.

“Clay,” George chuckled. “Please. You've only ever seen me behind a screen. I'm not afraid of you.”

Clay's eyes widened fractionally. If George wasn't so focused on his next move, he might have met the taller man's wild gaze and seen traces of an emotion that wasn't entirely platonic. He might have seen the feelings buried deep in Clay's eyes, and George might have realized that maybe, his best friend was just as confused and over his head as George himself was.

But George didn't see any of that.

Instead, he grinned fiercely and raced to the sink, dragging with Clay with him. In one motion, he plunged Clay's arm into the sink and used his free hand to splash water all over the front of Clay's shirt.

“George-!” Clay wrenched himself out of George's grip with a frustrated huff. “Oh my god. I'm going to fucking kill you.”

George burst out laughing. Clay grabbed the nearest towel and chucked it at George's head, but George just ducked to the side and kept laughing.

“Your face,” he gasped. “I got you!”

Clay tried to step forward, but his foot slid through the puddle of water that he'd dripped onto the floor. He shot George a venomous glare. “You're going to pay for this,” he warned.

George grinned right back. “I literally don't even care. That was amazing.”

Clay growled, and for a moment, George wondered if he should be more worried about his personal safety. Then a switch flipped, and a huge smile spread across Clay's face. He laughed and attempted to wring out his sopping shirt. It did nothing but grow the puddle of the floor.

“We made such a mess,” Clay chuckled. “I can't believe you, George.”

“I can't believe _you_ , Clay. You started this.”

Their eyes met, and George couldn't hold back his giggles. A soft smile spread over Clay's face in return, and George was filled with a warm joy. This was where he wanted to be. He was just... happy.

An alarm suddenly split the air. George jumped, startled from the moment, and looked for the source of the noise. Then he recognized the alarm as his own, and he snatched his phone from the breakfast bar (one of the only dry places left in the kitchen). The alarm read, “Stream in half an hour!”

“Oh, shit, that's right,” George murmured. He glanced up at Clay, who had sloshed his way to the sink. “When do you want to stream? Like, in an hour, or something?”

Clay grinned brightly. “Why don't you go set up right now?”

George frowned. “We need to clean this mess up first. I haven't even done the dishes yet.”

“George,” Clay chuckled. He gestured dramatically from his shirt to the floor. “We're not gonna be ready in an hour. Look, I started this, so I can take care of it. Change, start streaming, and maybe I'll show up later. I can handle one load of dishes. I've been putting it off for weeks, anyway. This is karma for my laziness.”

That was something else George wasn't quite used to. Clay's random generosity still surprised him. Sometimes the Florida native was just... selfless.

But even if George wasn't used to it, he still appreciated it.

“Thank you,” he breathed and dashed out of the kitchen, careful not to slide on the puddles.

George entered the office and quickly made a mental checklist. Yeah, he could get ready in half an hour. First things first, he needed to get out of his sopping shirt. George quickly changed shirts and donned a sweatshirt. Next, he moved his mattress out into the living room, earning a couple of annoyed grumbles from Patches. Finally, he hid his suitcase in the corner of the room. With a proper background established, George sank into Clay's chair. It felt strange. Like he wasn't supposed to be there.

No matter. Stream time.

George settled his headphones around his neck and unlocked Clay's computer (Clay had told him the password the first time they'd streamed together, and George had committed it to memory). He logged into his Twitch, pulled up Minecraft, and checked the time.

1 pm. Earlier than his usual streams, so maybe he'd finally catch his American fanbase.

George took a deep breath, then started the stream and waited for his audience to arrive. They did within seconds, happily greeting the sight of George's face.

“Hello!” George said, smiling as he read some of the first messages. “No Dream this time, just me! I hope I'm just as entertaining.” Another message caught his eye. “Yes, I'm still in Dream's office. He's letting me stream by myself, so I've got to behave. Heh, yes, I'm still staying with Dream. You're going to be seeing me in here for a while.”

In about fifteen minutes, George's stream was up and running as usual. He was just practicing speedrunning, and he didn't plan to stream for very long. But it was easy to get caught up in the fans' enthusiasm, and the minutes began ticking away.

After 45 minutes, George had kind of forgotten that he had planned to keep the stream short. He had just started another speedrun attempt when his chat lit up with new messages.

“DREAM”

“WAIT IS THAT DREAM”

“OFHMY GOD”

“DREAMMMMM”

George frowned, distracted by the animals that he was trying to kill. “What about Dream?” he asked.

Then, beneath the view of the webcam, warm hands slipped into his sweatshirt pocket.

“Hey, everyone,” Clay drawled, giving the camera a lazy grin. Well, it would have been a lazy grin, had not his face been hidden by the mask he'd been using in their streams.

The chat continued to scream, and George sighed. “Whenever you show up, they stop caring about me,” he whined. “You said that you'd let me stream by myself.”

“No, I said I'd show up later,” Clay corrected, with a slight chuckle.

The taller man rested his head on top of George's. For a moment, he just stood there, watching as George attempted to kill a particularly resistant pig. That was what George hoped Clay (and his fans) thought, anyway. In reality, George's hands were just trembling from Clay's proximity, and he couldn't land any crits. Then the Florida native stepped away to grab a chair for himself, and George huffed a quiet sigh of relief. That was better.

“Are you okay if I'm here?” Clay asked, hovering at George's right shoulder.

George flopped a hand at his best friend. “Yeah, of course. I think I'm gonna need your help.”

With the taller man's help, George's speedrun progressed much more quickly. As Clay pointed out little shortcuts, George couldn't help but marvel at his best friend's knowledge of the game. Sure, Clay had played for years, but still. It was no surprise that he was widely regarded as one of the best Minecraft players.

George smiled to himself. Who would have known that one day, he'd be friends with one of Minecraft's most notorious players? Or even be regarded as a popular figure himself?

An hour later, George was back at the End Portal with considerably more gear than he'd had the first time. Clay chose that moment to leave, innocently explaining that he had to make sure they had enough food for dinner. George scowled after him, but put his fingers to the keyboard and prepared for battle.

“Alright, since my _wonderful_ helper decided to leave, it's just you and me now,” George told the chat. He flashed the webcam a nervous smile, then returned his attention to the screen. “Alright, uh.... that's pretty far. Let's just... pearl over. Okay. God, okay, why are there so many endermen? Let's... let's just go over here... fire, and... Ugh, of course, it doesn't hit. This is all because Dream left. He literally abandoned me, you saw it.”

George kept up a consistent stream of chatter as he sprinted back and forth through the End. His fingers flew over the keyboard, guided by hours upon hours of muscle memory. He blocked out everything except the screen before him.

So close. _So_ close. Just two more crystals, then the End Dragon...

“George!”

George's focus shattered like a pane of glass. “Damn it,” he hissed, swerving around a particularly aggressive enderman. “Shut up, Clay!” he shouted. “I'm-” Another enderman appeared, and again, George barely dodged the hit. “I'm busy!”

“Georrrrge!”

This time, Clay's voice was laced with a whine. George ground his teeth. Of course, Clay would pick this fucking moment to bother him. He _had_ to win.

Last crystal... down! Now for the dragon!

George powered towards the center of the island, launching himself under the bedrock alcove. Within a few seconds, the dragon landed. George placed a bed and blew it up. Down the dragon's health went. Another bed – more health gone. The dragon finally took off, but it was at barely a third of its full health.

“C'mon, c'mon,” George muttered. He charged after the dragon, simultaneously trying to aim at the dark figure circling him and navigate the hoard of endermen.

Suddenly, a quiet voice appeared in his ear. “Go back to mid,” it murmured. “The dragon is going to circle back around soon. One more bed and a couple of hits, and you win.”

George's brain immediately recognized the voice and fully trusted it, so he obeyed without question. He dove back under the bedrock alcove, and right on cue, the dragon flapped down to him. George lit his last bed and sucked in a breath as the dragon's health dropped to nearly nothing. He switched to his sword, moved around the alcove, and whacked the dragon as rapidly as he could.

 _Pwwh. Pwwh. Pwwh. DWWWMM_.

George whooped as glowing cracks spread across the dragon's body. He'd beaten the dragon before, but never that quickly, and never that quickly when he was by himself! That was a personal record!

George glanced up and found the helping voice (Clay, of course) standing at his left shoulder, grinning broadly. He had discarded his mask due to being out of frame, and his glowing smile made George's stomach ripple. George couldn't even describe what he was feeling. It was just... pure joy.

“Nice job,” Clay chuckled. He hugged George under the arms. “Next time, I bet you'll break 45 minutes.”

“That's a little fast,” George replied, still breathless from his victory. “But thank you. You made me so much quicker. Just watch the vod, I was so slow the first time.”

As he spoke, George carefully checked the second monitor, just to make sure that Clay's face was out of frame. His heart clenched at the image staring back at him. He was flushed, slumped into the chair. Clay was barely in frame to his left, the taller man's body and mouth being the only visible parts of him. However, what little could be seen of Clay's mouth was clearly curved into a pleased grin.

 _Oh, that's so going to be clipped,_ George thought. Clay stepped away, but the pressure in George's chest didn't really go away.

“Alright, will you listen to me now?” Clay asked. A smirk danced across his face.

Ah, this George was more comfortable with. He sat back in Clay's chair with a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, sure, since you helped me. What do you want?”

“I need to go get stuff for dinner.”

“Why does this concern me?”

Clay chuckled and crossed his arms. “George, I don't know what the hell you eat. You have to come with me, or you're going to get lobster legs or something.”

“I'm never had lobster before,” George mused absently. “Sounds disgusting.” Clay left the office with a roll of his eyes, so George swiveled to face the webcam. “It looks like Clay desperately needs me to tell him not to feed me freakish Florida stuff.” Clay let out a muffled shout from somewhere in the apartment, and George snickered. “Thank you all so much for tuning in!”

He rushed through his outro as quickly as he could, then went to end the stream. George paused for just a moment to read some of the last messages.

“That was so wholesome omg”

“was dream kissing his head”

“domestic”

“boyfriends”

“dnf confirmed”

George smiled gently. “Goodbye!”

The stream ended, and George sat back in the chair. All in all, he thought that had gone very well. After the novelty of his and Clay's first stream together, their fans had grown somewhat accustomed to the idea. Now, the fans only freaked out when one of them did something out of the ordinary. It was funny how quickly an entire fanbase had simply accepted that George and Clay now streamed together.

“And I'm one of the fools,” George muttered absently.

“George, hurry up!”

George rolled his eyes and grabbed his phone from the desk. “I'm coming!” he shouted back, hurrying out of the office. Clay was already standing by the front door, tapping a foot with mock impatience. “Christ, calm down,” George grumbled. He grabbed his shoes from a pile by the door and slid them on. “It's not even 3. Why are you so worried about dinner?”

Clay flashed George a dazzling smile. “Maybe I'm thinking of spoiling you tonight with something really elaborate.”

George raised an eyebrow. “I'll believe that when I see it.”

Clay herded George down the stairs with a quiet laugh. Within a few minutes, the two of them were seated in Clay's car and ready to begin their journey to get groceries. George expected to hit one, maybe two stores to get everything they needed.

He was ridiculously mistaken.

——————

Clay scanned the shelf in front of him. Thirty different brands of pasta sauce, but not the one he wanted. Was there a way he could complain to the store without sounding like an asshole? No, not really. Clay sighed and picked up one of the less sketchy-looking jars.

“I found the thin spaghetti! I think I pissed off a Karen, but it was worth it.”

Clay glanced over his shoulder in time to see George come hurrying down the aisle, arms loaded with several different products.

“You got a lot of food,” Clay commented dryly, as George dumped his load into the basket.

The shorter man gave him a half-hearted glare. “I'm hungry, Clay. Never take me shopping while I'm hungry.”

“Okay, whatever. Get over here, does this sauce look okay to you?”

George moved to stand at Clay's shoulder. Clay held out the jar, and for a moment, he was struck with the absurd normality of the situation. He was in a grocery store with George, complaining about pasta sauce. It was so... domestic. He hated that he loved it so much.

“It looks a little gritty,” George muttered, wrinkling his nose.

“That's what I thought.” Clay sighed again and placed the jar back on the shelf. “I can't find the sauce I normally use. It has a bright blue label; it shouldn't be that hard to find!”

“Blue label, huh?” George mused. “At least I can actually see that. You know, I think I saw it on one of the end things. I'm gonna check. Stay here and... keep looking for blue labels, I guess.” Clay grumbled under his breath, and his shorter companion nudged him in the ribs. “C'mon, I'm sure we can find it. Be right back.”

George took off down the aisle just as quickly as he'd come. Clay watched him go, and a smile crept over his face.

God, George was adorable. Clay would have to drag him out for more shopping trips in the future.

Clay turned back to the impenetrable wall of pasta sauce and scowled at it. If he couldn't find the sauce he wanted within the next five minutes, he was going to complain to the manager and damn sounding like a Karen. Chefs needed their brands, for god's sake!

“Clay? What the hell are you doing here?”

Clay jumped, startled at the sound of his name from someone other than George (That was kind of worrisome. When had Clay gotten so accustomed to George's voice?). His nerves eased when he spotted one of his friends striding towards him.

“Adrien, hey,” Clay said, greeting the other man with a fist bump.

Adrien was one of Clay's few offline friends that he regularly kept in contact with. He was about Clay's height, with ruffled, jet black hair and an easygoing grin. His jeans and jacket marked him as another Florida native, since no tourist was comfortable wearing jeans in the heat. Well, George was, but the Brit was a unique case in many ways.

“What are you doing here?” Adrien repeated. He glanced down at Clay's basket and raised his eyebrows. “Are you cooking for a family or some shit? I didn't even know you shopped.”

Clay winced at the amount of food piled in the basket. George had gone a little overboard with his last batch of snacks. They would have to thin it out before they left. Clay had planned for spending lots of money on George, but things added up more quickly than he would have liked.

“Yeah, I'm getting food,” Clay said vaguely. “Gonna make dinner tonight.”

Adrien snorted. “For how many people?” Clay hesitated, and Adrien pounced on the slight mistake. “Wait, are you actually cooking for someone? Dude, why didn't you tell me? I'm supposed to be your wingman!”

“I don't need a wingman,” Clay grumbled. “It's not a date.”

Adrien scanned the items in Clay's basket, and Clay's anxiety climbed a couple of notches. Slowly, painfully slowly, Adrien lifted his gaze.

“Did George fly out here?” Adrien asked.

Clay swallowed a nervous laugh. His real-life friends knew all about George. In lieu of having a romantic partner to talk about during their lunches, Clay had often used George or Nick as his “person to talk about.” However, his friends had quickly latched on to how Clay talked about George and had dubbed the Brit “Clay's long-distance boyfriend.” Whenever it was brought up, Clay had always rolled his eyes and denied it. Now, Clay knew that they had been pretty accurate with that assessment. But he wasn't about to tell Adrien that.

“Yeah, George flew out here,” Clay said, careful with each word. “He's here right now, actually. We, uh... I wasn't sure what he liked, so I dragged him out with me.”

A shit-eating grin spread over Adrien's face. “You don't say.”

Clay scowled and picked the basket off the ground. “We're getting food, not buying a house together,” he muttered. “Leave me the hell alone.”

Adrien inhaled, probably to crow that he was right and that Clay did have a boyfriend, but he never got to say it. Right as Clay picked up the basket and prepared to leave the aisle, George came jogging around the corner, brandishing a jar of pasta sauce. His triumphant smile dimmed as he took in the scene.

“Clay?” George asked hesitantly.

The uncertainty in the Brit's voice made Clay's chest constrict. Oh, fuck no, he was not letting Adrien's presence make George uncomfortable.

“George, this is Adrien,” Clay said, hurrying to George's side. The Brit's shoulders visibly loosened, and Clay heaved an internal sigh of relief. “He's a friend from around here. Adrien, this is George. He's my best friend.”

Clay took a mental picture of George's beaming smile at the “he's my best friend,” and filed it away to be appreciated later.

Adrien gave George an easy smile and held out a hand. “Hey, man, nice to meet you.”

George returned the handshake with an equally pleasant smile. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“Clay told me that you guys have been out for a couple of hours,” Adrien said, with a slight grin at Clay. “A couple of us are meeting up at the 20th for lunch. You're more than welcome to stop by and grab something to eat.”

 _NO,_ Clay wanted to shout. _ABSOLUTELY NOT. YOU DIPSHITS WILL EXPOSE ME_.

“Lunch sounds great,” George said brightly, before Clay could say anything out loud. Then the Brit's face fell. “I mean, if I'm invited.”

“Of course you're invited,” Adrien laughed. “That'd be pretty fucking rude of me, just inviting Clay while you're standing right here. You're totally welcome, alright?” Adrien glanced at his watch. “Gotta run. Show up if you want to!” He strode around Clay and George, throwing a “Later!” over his shoulder.

Just like that, the whole interaction was over. Clay hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise.

George glanced at Clay, and the Brit's eyes glittered with amusement. “He's very energetic,” he noted, with a barely-there smile. “Seems nice.”

 _He's a fucking bastard,_ Clay thought sourly. “Yeah, he's a good guy,” he said, trying to force cheerfulness he didn't feel into his voice. It rang a little hallow, but George didn't seem to notice. “So, do you want to grab lunch with my friends?”

A shy smile crept over George's face. “I mean, I think it'd be fun,” he said softly. “And I'm kind of starving, so...”

Clay examined the shorter man's face. George looked earnest, and to a certain extent, a little embarrassed. His eyes shone with a hopeful light, and his lips were quirked in a small smile. Clay's heart melted. It was clear that George wanted to see a part of Clay's life that he hadn't shared before. How on earth was Clay supposed to deny him that?

Well, the prospect of being outed as utterly head over heels for George was a bit of a stumbling block. But gazing into George's eyes, Clay could barely remember why he'd been so worried just a moment before.

“You deserve something to eat,” Clay admitted. “Let's check out, drop everything off at home, and then get lunch.”

George's grin became radiant, and he snatched the basket from Clay's hands. “Sounds like a plan. I found the sauce, by the way.” And with that, he hurried towards the checkouts.

Clay stared after the Brit for a moment before he followed suit. God, he was so over his head.

It took a couple of minutes for Clay to convince George to give up some of the items he'd picked (“They're American snacks, Clay, let me try them!”), but after that, they quickly finished their shopping. Clay drove them home, dumped everything needing to be refrigerated in the fridge, then herded George back out the door. This time, however, they were on foot.

“You've convinced me that we can walk everywhere in Florida,” George commented, as Clay locked the door to the apartment. “I bet we could have just walked to all those stores.”

Clay shot the shorter man a cheeky grin. “Yeah, we could have. But I didn't want to carry all that shit back. C'mon, it's a short walk, I promise.”

The two of them headed down the stairs and started off down the street, side by side. George began rambling about some of the snacks that he'd convinced Clay to get for him, and Clay was content to listen. That was something that he'd grown to appreciate after being on so many calls with George. It was the purest example of enjoying his best friend's company that Clay could think of.

They rounded a corner, and Clay's thoughts turned to the restaurant they were heading to. Well, it wasn't a restaurant, it was a bar with excellent food, but that wasn't the point. How would Clay's friends react to George being there? They'd be nice, of course, but would they interrogate him? Try to figure out if he and Clay were dating?

Or... what if one of them liked George? What if they realized that he and Clay weren't actually dating, and decided to make a move?

A coil of white heat wrapped around Clay's heart. Possessive anger clouded his mind before he could tell himself that nothing had even happened yet. Clay knew that he shouldn't be reacting so strongly. It wasn't his place on multiple levels, and it clearly wasn't good for his mental health.

But it was truly a terrible thought to imagine one of Clay's friends flirting with George because he'd been too much a coward to admit how he felt. But if Clay did confess, what then? What if George didn't feel the same way? Clay would be back at square one with nothing to show but a broken heart.

Clay physically shook his head to stop his spiraling thoughts. Everything would be fine. He was meeting up with his offline friends and bringing his online best friend with him. He just had to relax. Things would turn out fine.

“What is the 20th?” George asked suddenly, and Clay remembered that the Brit had been talking to him the whole time he'd been in his head. Hopefully, he hadn't missed anything important.

“It's a bar that one of my friends stumbled across years ago,” Clay said. “She was just there for the drinks. But then she took Adrien with her, and he learned that they have great food. Now, we go there for lunch, dinner, whatever. It's a pretty nice place, too.”

George winced slightly. “I think I might be underdressed, then.”

 _You look amazing,_ Clay thought. “You can't be underdressed in Florida,” he said out loud. “You could walk into a five-star restaurant in sandals, and the maitre'd is the only one who'd give you shit for it.”

Five minutes later, they stood outside of a modest-looking bar. Its name was plastered above the door in white, block letters, but Clay ignored it. To him and his friends, and now George, it was merely the 20th (the shortened version of the bar of 20th).

Clay pushed the door open and waved George inside. Despite the nerves that still plucked at his stomach, Clay relaxed once they stepped into the 20th's familiar interior. He had a lot of good memories here, and he was about to make new good memories. Everything would be fine.

“Clay, George! Over here!”

Clay's friends were sitting at a nearby table, Adrien waving them over. Two seats were open on Adrien's right.

 _Thank god,_ Clay thought, relieved. As much as Adrien had gotten him into this mess, he appreciated that the man hadn't totally thrown him and George to the sharks.

“Come on, George,” Clay said. He took a step towards the table but paused when he realized that George hadn't moved. “George?”

The Brit was frozen just inside the doorway. A slightly nervous smile wavered on his face, and his hands were shoved in his pockets. Clay immediately felt a pang of guilt. Right, this was a group of strangers who all knew each other. Talking to Adrien one-on-one had been okay, but George was on the quieter side when getting to know people. He needed a little help.

Clay moved back to George's side. “Hey,” he said softly. “They're just people. And none of them have their own YouTube channel with millions of subscribers. You're already making more money than them.”

George giggled a little. “Clay, that's horrible,” he chided. “I'm not better than them.”

“Aren't you?” Clay asked, grinning. George giggled again, and Clay was relieved to see some of the tension drain from the shorter man's shoulders. “C'mon,” he murmured, placing a hand on the small of George's back. This time, when Clay headed for the table, George came with him.

The two of them settled in, and Clay greeted his friends as he sat. Not including Adrien, there were three people at the table, all of whom watched Clay with barely-concealed smirks. Apparently, Adrien had gotten them up to speed. Wonderful.

“Everyone, this is George,” Clay said. George waved with a shy grin, and he was met by cheerful greetings. “George, this is Kim, Jacob, and Melissa. You already know Adrien.”

Kim, a fair woman with long, dark hair, gave George a welcoming smile. “It's a pleasure to have you here with us, George,” she said. “I hope the city treats you well. If you want any sort of tour, feel free to ask me. Anything for Clay's long-distance boyfriend.”

The table collectively chuckled, but Clay's heart stuck in his throat. Oh god, they were out to get him. Christ, George was going to hate him after this-

Then George laughed, and the growing bubble of panic in Clay's chest popped.

“Thank you,” George said, giving Kim a small smile. “I haven't seen much yet, but it's been a great time so far.”

Melissa, a pretty blond with piercing gray eyes, met Clay's eyes and smirked slightly. Clay tried to convey _You'd better stop right fucking now_ with his scowl, but Melissa ignored him, instead turning to George.

“So, George,” she began innocently. “What brought you down here to good ol' Florida? It doesn't seem like you're here for a weekend stay.”

“Not really,” the Brit admitted. “I'm staying with Clay.”

A couple of wolf-whistles broke out among the group. Clay fought the urge to sink into his chair, but George just laughed off the teasing once again. _At least one of us is comfortable,_ Clay thought bitterly. It had been a mistake to come to lunch. Clay's friends were either going to give him a heart attack, expose him, or make George feel awkward. None of the above options were good.

“Staying with Clay, huh?” Jacob, an athletic man with dark brown hair, repeated. “Seen anything good yet? Clay knows a lot of nice spots around here.”

Jacob shot Clay a suggestive look, and Clay barely kept from leaning over the table and punching his friend in the nose. Jacob had always been the most amused by Clay's “long-distance boyfriend.” Now, he seemed absolutely delighted that George was having lunch with them.

George didn't notice their silent conversation. “The beaches here are incredible,” he gushed. His face glowed as he spoke, and Clay smiled softly at the shorter man's enthusiasm. “It took a couple of days before we could get out there, since it was pouring. But it was so nice once we did. My favorite is the... ugh, I don't know what it's called. It's one in the residential area. You have to go down this alleyway to get to it.”

Adrien inhaled sharply, and Clay barely stifled a groan. They both knew the beach Clay had taken George to well. As teenagers, they'd gone with their friends many times. But when Clay had taken George to the beach, he'd neglected to mention one important local detail. Due to its secluded nature, it was known as a sweethearts' beach.

Adrien shot Clay a curious look over the top of George's head. Clay refused to meet his friend's gaze; he already knew what Adrien was trying to ask. _Are you actually dating George?_ Luckily, the object of Clay's affection didn't notice his discomfort or Adrien's growing suspicion. _Thank god for that,_ Clay thought.

“It's been a great week and a half,” George was telling Kim. “I'm really happy that I have more time. I want to see everything before I leave.”

“How long are you staying?” Kim asked.

George glanced at his phone, squinted as he thought, then answered, “I'm leaving at the end of this month. I think my flight home is on the 30th? Something like that.”

Surprise flickered over Kim's face for the briefest moment before she covered it with a smile. Melissa, however, had no such inhibitions.

“You're staying here a whole month?” she asked incredulously. George's smile wavered a little, and protectiveness flared to life in Clay's chest. He was perfectly fine with throwing hands if Melissa got rude. Clay knew that she would understand and would probably applaud him for being so upfront. But it was unnecessary, as she just sighed and said, “Damn. I wish I could take a month-long vacation.”

George's smile came back in full force. “It's quite the experience,” he laughed. “I mean, Clay and I have been waiting a while for this, so it's totally worth it.”

Warmth swelled in Clay's chest, and he ducked his head to hide the stupid smile that spread over his face.

“I know that sounds a little weird,” George added, a bit more awkwardly than before.

Jacob waved a hand. “Nah, not weird,” he said dismissively. “I mean, London's, like, a whole other continent. The distance is tough.”

 _PANIC,_ Clay's brain screamed. He decided it was time to reenter the conversation, but before he could, Kim piped up with, “A month here is most definitely worth it.”

Annoyance plucked at Clay's chest as Kim continued on about why Florida was the best state. If he wasn't going to be allowed into the conversation, why was he there? Was he just the chauffeur to bring George to the bar, so Clay's friends could interrogate him?

That was the strangest thing about the way Clay was feeling. He wasn't jealous of all the attention George was getting. He was angry that his friends were hounding George. To George, the questions probably seemed normal from a group of complete strangers. But Clay heard the hidden meanings behind each one.

His best friend deserved a modicum of privacy. It didn't matter that Clay's friends knew George; George didn't know them. He had the right to open up on his own time, when he felt comfortable and ready – not just because Clay's friends wanted him to.

Clay cleared his throat, effectively grinding the conversation to a halt. “What about you, Mel?” he asked. “You've been so interested in George, why don't you tell him something about yourself? Did you ever go on a date with that girl you were talking to?”

Melissa scowled. “No, Clay, she left me on read. I still don't have a girlfriend.”

That slight subject change was enough to get the conversation moving away from George and to other topics. Within a couple of minutes, Clay's friends were happily chatting, making sure to include George. Clay contributed a word here and there, but he was mostly just concerned with his best friend. As long as George was having a good time, Clay was fine.

Fifteen minutes later, Clay's stomach grumbled and reminded him that they'd come to the 20th for a reason. He leaned over to George. “I'm gonna get something to eat,” he said quietly. “Do you want me to order for you?”

“No, I'll come with you.”

Clay stood and led the way to the actual bar. George followed him closely, their hands almost brushing as they walked. Guilt and affection battled for dominance in Clay's mind. Was George desperate to get away from his friends, or did he just like being close to Clay?

“You still having a good time?” Clay asked once they were out of earshot of the table.

George settled himself onto a barstool and grinned. “Yeah, your friends are actually pretty cool,” he said. “I was expecting them to be... dorkier, I guess. But I only had you as an example. No, wait, that sounds...” George trailed off with a frustrated sigh. He gestured vaguely at Clay's friends. “They aren't anything like you, that's what I'm trying to say. They're different, but they seem like good people. I like them.”

Clay smiled faintly. “I'm glad. I know they don't really understand what a boundary is.”

George giggled, and for the second time that day, Clay was struck by how natural it felt to have George by his side. First, at the grocery store, and now here, discussing whether or not their friends were too invasive. As cliché as it was... it felt like he and George were meant to be tackling life together.

Clay fought back a wince. Maybe that was a little too cliché.

“Lack of boundaries is nothing new to me,” George chuckled. “You and them are exactly the same in that way. But they're polite, and you aren't, so that's nice.” Clay scoffed, which earned a bigger grin from George. “No, I really like them, Clay. I want to stick around a little longer.”

Clay sighed dramatically. “You're giving them too much credit,” he warned. “I already told you, George, you're better than they are. You give them an inch, they're gonna take a mile.”

For a moment, George just looked at him. Then the Brit laughed, covering his mouth with a hand. God, he was just adorable. And... he was blushing slightly. Wait, why was he embarrassed? If one of Clay's friends had made George embarrassed, Clay swore to god-

“Clay, stop saying that,” George said, still giggling a little. “You can't call me better than your other friends just because we spend so much time together.”

Oh. Right. Because that was what Clay and George were. Friends. They weren't actually “together against the world” like Clay had been dreaming of. The racing emotions in his chest were nothing more than feelings. They weren't a reality, and they never would be. He and George were platonic. Completely platonic.

 _Idiot,_ Clay told himself harshly. _Stop getting caught up in your feelings. Your friends can think whatever they want, but you and George aren't together. Get that through your head._

“But you are better,” Clay said. He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but George frowned at him, and Clay knew it hadn't really worked. Time to change the subject. “C'mon, let's order. What do you want? They make great sandwiches.”

A bartend quickly took their orders. While they waited, an uneasy silence hung over them. Clay felt bad (he knew it was because of his negative thoughts), but he didn't know how to breach the divide that he'd placed between them. Was he supposed to back off and be more “friend-like?” Because that didn't feel right. But... Clay somehow felt dirty going back to how close he'd been getting with George. He'd slipped a little too far into his feelings. He just prayed it hadn't been too far.

Their sandwiches arrived, and they started to head back to the table. George had taken two steps when words suddenly forced themselves through Clay's lips.

“George, wait.”

The Brit paused, turning back to face him. Clay's mind went blank. He wanted to apologize for being weird, for being in love, for being so goddamn possessive. But George didn't need to hear any of that. He never needed to hear it.

Clay swallowed thickly and said, “If you want to go, or need my help, just... squeeze my hand or something. These are my friends. I can make them shut up. I won't let them harass you, okay?”

George cracked a smile. It was small, but it was bright. “I know you won't,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

They both returned to the table. Adrien had shifted to Clay's right side, claiming that he just wanted to get out of the afternoon sun. But his real motive was revealed as Adrien muttered, “You alright, dude?” to Clay as he sat back down.

“I'm fine,” Clay muttered back, and he was telling the truth. Mostly.

Adrien rolled his eyes, but he didn't push the subject. His gaze landed on George, and he smiled faintly. “You really like him, huh? Seems sweet. And he's pretty cute, too.”

Jealousy raged to life in Clay's chest. For a moment, he could do nothing more than just stare at Adrien and try to calm himself down. He knew Adrien. His friend would never try to steal George away. But jealousy was a formidable beast to tame, and Clay's possessive nature had the edge over most of his rational emotions.

“Relax, I'm not going to try anything,” Adrien chuckled. “Jesus. You're so whipped. You're not doing yourself any favors by leaving him open for grabs, you know. You've been eyeing everyone since the second you walked in. It's a miracle that he hasn't noticed yet.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Clay grumbled.

Adrien chuckled again and leaned away. Clay took a big bite of his sandwich to make sure that he didn't say something he'd later regret.

Had he really been _that_ protective without noticing? He'd be the first to admit that he'd been keeping an eye on his friends, but he hadn't been too obvious. Well, that's what he'd thought. Clay had to get himself under control. Otherwise, George would notice, and that couldn't happen.

Clay didn't want his best friend to start asking questions that Clay couldn't give the answers to.

The lunch didn't last much longer. Kim had to get to her shift, and everyone else had things to do. Clay and George exchanged goodbyes, with Clay's friends giving George extra friendly farewells, and then left the bar. The second he stepped outside, Clay felt like a bag of bricks had been lifted from his shoulders.

“That was fun,” George chirped. He looked around happily as they walked, blissfully unaware of the turmoil Clay had been suppressing throughout the entire lunch.

“Yeah,” Clay lied. He'd have to send apology texts to Melissa and Jacob later that night.

George gave Clay a mildly concerned look. “You didn't have fun?” he asked. “Was it because of me? I know they just wanted to get to know me, but-”

“What?” Clay interrupted. “You didn't do anything. I literally just said that I had fun.”

“That's what you said, but you were lying. What's wrong?”

Damn, George knew him well. That was equal parts terrifying and touching. But at the moment, it was nothing but a problem. Clay didn't want to lie to George, but there was no way in hell he would tell the truth about why he was feeling so on edge. Maybe a half-truth would be enough.

“My friends can be really blunt,” Clay sighed. “I was just worried that one of them would try to hit on you or something. I don't know, I didn't want it to be awkward. I just didn't really relax.”

The concern left George's face, replaced by a fond grin. “Aww, Clay, that's so sweet,” he chuckled. “Thank you.”

Clay grinned back, and he gently knocked George's shoulder with his own. “I gotta look out for you. You're here because of me, I'm not gonna make you fend for yourself.”

George laughed. “I'm not helpless!” he protested. “In case you didn't notice, I totally held my own against your friends.”

“Yeah, yeah. You did.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a moment, the only noises being the sounds of the street and the other people on the sidewalk. Suddenly, George gasped, and he pulled at Clay's arm. Clay looked around wildly, startled.

“Oh my god, look at that flamingo!” was all George said before he dashed into a nearby store.

Clay's anxiety settled, and he laughed breathlessly, following his best friend into the store. It was a small trinket shop that Clay passed most days out of the week. He knew the store owner well, and she shot him a knowing smile as he entered the shop.

“Your boyfriend already made a little pile of things he likes,” she chuckled, once Clay got close enough to her. She waved a hand at a couple of figurines that George had piled on the edge of the counter. “Do you want me to start swiping them now?”

Clay opened his mouth to tell her that he and George weren't dating. But he paused, watching as George hurried around the little shop with his eyes alight. What was the harm in not correcting her? She wasn't a nosy person, and chances were, George would never come to this shop again. Clay could have this little moment to pretend.

“No, just leave them there,” he said. “I can't buy all of these for him.”

The shop owner laughed, and Clay smiled.

Yeah. He could pretend for a few minutes.

——————

The smell of fresh spaghetti lured George over to the breakfast bar. He settled onto a stool and watched as Clay moved swiftly around the kitchen, as graceful as an experienced chef. It was kind of hypnotic.

“Was finding this special sauce really worth it?” George asked. He waved a hand at the organized chaos that Clay was commanding. “In the grand scheme of your world-famous spaghetti, the sauce can't matter that much.”

Clay heaved a deep sigh and leaned against the counter. He fixed George with a crooked smirk, and George's stomach rippled.

“What's your favorite flavor of cake, George?” Clay asked.

George blinked, but answered, “Vanilla.”

“And frosting?”

“I don't know, buttercream, I guess?”

“If you eat vanilla cake with a different frosting, it still tastes good, but it's not the same, right?”

“Sure...”

“Then, yeah, finding my special sauce was worth it.”

George wrinkled his nose. “Clay, that's not the same at all. Cake and frosting are like, two completely separate components. You can taste all the differences. You've dumped so many spices and meats and stuff into those pots that I don't think I'll even be able to taste the noodles.”

Clay tapped George on the nose, and George snorted, swiping at the invasive hand.

“Just trust me, it'll be worth it,” Clay chuckled. “Stop annoying me and go change or something. You've been wearing those jeans all day.”

George glanced down and realized that, oh yeah, he'd never changed. As soon as he and Clay had returned from lunch, he'd collapsed on the couch and said that he'd never move again. To be fair, George was never high energy after a whole day of doing things.

“How much time do I have?” George asked.

Clay glanced at a couple of timers. “Eh, five minutes. Don't take forever.”

George nodded to himself and ducked into the office, only to see Patches sitting atop his suitcase.

“Mrrrp?” she asked.

“Yes, I have to get into my suitcase,” George laughed. “You have to move. I've been wearing these jeans for three hours too long already.”

Patches jumped down from the suitcase and rubbed against his leg. “Prrrrrff,” she advised.

George rolled his eyes, crouching to rustle through his clothes. “Yes, I know this would be easier if I had a dresser or something. But Clay only has one, and it's in his bedroom. Look, I'll be fine. I can live with having to bend down to get a new shirt.” George grimaced at the tangled mess that used to be neatly folded clothes. “Okay, it's a little messy. But it's not terrible. Yet.”

Patches looked at the suitcase for a long moment. Then she pounced, diving headfirst into what George thought was his clean shirts. He didn't really know; he had to ask Clay to do laundry again. When Patches popped out of his clothes, she was clutching a pair of black sweatpants.

“Thank you,” George chuckled. He grinned and gently moved the cat out of his clothes. “You have better fashion taste than me, Patches.”

“Mrrrrww.” Patches nuzzled George’s hand, then left the room.

George quickly stripped out of his jeans and sagged into the soft comfort of sweats. He shambled back into the living room, collapsing onto the couch. This was definitely the most comfortable spot in the apartment. He could see everything, and it was a straight shot to the kitchen.

“Are you even going to get up when dinner is ready?” Clay called.

 _Speak of the devil,_ George thought absently. “Yeah, I'll get up,” he called back. An empty promise, as he was really very comfortable, and the taller man seemed to catch it. Clay stepped out of the kitchen with an eyebrow raised.

“All of the work we did this afternoon, and you're just going to lay there?” he asked.

George ignored the judgmental tone. “I'm tired,” he whined. “You dragged me around all day. I'm allowed to lay here.”

“You wanted to go to lunch,” Clay chuckled. “That's not my fault.”

“But they're your friends!”

“Still not my fault.”

Clay returned to the kitchen, and thoughts of the lunch at the 20th entered George's head. He'd had a great time with Clay's friends, enough so that he wanted to go back and do something with them again. Maybe he'd even go to the beach with them. But George wasn't blind. Even before he'd spoken to Clay on their way home, he'd noticed that his best friend was on edge. Something had been bothering Clay all through the lunch.

George had tried to bring it up once they got back to the apartment. As he'd taken off his shoes and flopped onto the couch, George had asked,

“Do you guys go out for lunch often? I wouldn't mind doing something like that again while I'm here.”

Clay had frozen, his shoulders tensing for a split second. “I guess, yeah,” he had responded vaguely. “It really depends on everyone's schedules. Kim just started at her new position, so I don't know when she'll be open again. We can work something out if you want to see them again, though.”

It had been an awfully long-winded answer for a straightforward question, especially from Clay. George had expected something like, “Not really,” or “Yeah, every week.”

At first, George had worried that _he_ had been the problem, and Clay was just trying to spare his feelings. But George had discarded that notion as soon as he'd considered it. That had been his ego talking, and if Clay had really been uncomfortable with having him there, the taller man would have said something.

George still didn't know what had bothered Clay so much. He figured that he would bring it up again when it was less of a touchy subject.

“Are you almost done?” George called, and he sounded more excited than he wanted to admit. He couldn't help it! Clay was an absolute god in the kitchen. His cooking could rival some of the best restaurants George had ever been to.

“Almost done,” Clay agreed. “Just a touch more... Go sit down, I'll be right there.”

George did as he was told. He heaved himself up from the couch and wandered over to one of the dining room chairs. He spared a moment to appreciate at the fancy glasses and specialty napkins Clay had laid out. As annoying as it was at times, George loved Clay's penchant for the dramatic. It made the smallest things feel like an adventure. Who would have known that George would feel like he was at a five-star restaurant when he was being served a home-cooked meal?

Clay swept out of the kitchen, carrying two plates of perfect spaghetti. “Your dinner, monsieur,” he said, adopting a terrible Italian accent as he set down the plates.

“Never talk like that again,” George grumbled. But he only half meant it. He was mostly fixated on the plate of food before him. Jesus, it looked so good.

A couple of minutes later, they were both settled in. Clay had also brought out some mini salads, which George eagerly dug into. For a moment, they were both silent, devouring Clay's most recent creation. But George couldn't stay quiet for long, and after a particularly big bite of spaghetti, he pointed his fork at Clay.

“This is amazing,” he said. “I have no idea how you did this, but it's amazing.”

Clay's cheeks went a little pink, but he grinned. “Thanks. It was a team effort.” The Florida native picked at his salad for a second, then added, “I kinda want to teach you something next time I make dinner. If you want to, of course. I don't know, I just... I want to show you why I love cooking so much. Does that sound weird?”

Warmth swept through George, filling him from his head to his toes. “I'd love that,” he murmured. “If I could even get half of your talent, I'd be set for life.”

Clay laughed quietly, waving his fork around. “George, I'm not that good.”

“Bullshit. If I could cook like you, I would literally buy everything and see what I could throw together. You'd be my test subject since you probably have better taste than me.”

Clay's eyes sparkled. “Am I always a part of your vision for the future?” the taller man chuckled.

“Yeah, of course.”

The words were out before George could stop them. Horror froze the warmth he'd been feeling, and soon, panic replaced the horror. Where the fuck had that come from? God, he'd been so distracted by the good food and peaceful atmosphere that he'd forgotten to keep an eye on what he said.

And now, George had been quiet for a little too long to play it off as a joke.

A brilliant smile spread across Clay's face. “Good,” he said softly. “You're going to have to put up with me for a long time.”

George's heart stuttered in his chest. That was... not what he'd been expecting. But he liked that answer a lot. Even if Clay didn't mean it in the way George had, it was a good answer. It kept them together.

“George, you're blushing.”

George flinched, bringing a hand up to his face. He immediately felt the heat.

“No, I'm not,” he muttered.

Clay chuckled and leaned over the table, gently cupping George's cheek with a hand. “You are,” the taller man said, with a lopsided grin. “Don't deny it. I can feel it. Oh my god, you're so warm."

“Shut the fuck up.” George smacked Clay's hand away. He'd meant it to be threatening, but the Florida native just looked amused. “Clay, I'm serious, stop looking at me like that.” Nothing. Alright, time to try a different tactic. “I have a picture of you from when we were on the beach. I'll put it on Twitter.”

Clay just rolled his eyes with a smile. “You wouldn't do that.”

“Do you wanna bet?”

Clay grinned, and George's resolved wavered. “You won't do it, George,” the taller man said, a bit patronizingly. “C'mon. You were being cute, just accept it.”

 _I already accepted it, but my fucking emotions are making it hard to stop being embarrassed!_ George screamed internally. But externally, he just nodded reluctantly and took another bite of food. Clay grinned widely, and the conversation continued on. The rest of the dinner went by filled with laughter and chatter. By the time they were finished, George's cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Four hours later, George stood in the office, getting ready for bed. It had been a long day, and sleep was probably the only thing that would help him recover from his food coma. God, Clay was such a good cook.

But George wasn't getting a change of clothes. No, he was staring at his phone, dumbfounded.

The picture of Clay on the beach had blown up. #BEACHDREAM was trending, Twitter was on fire, and everyone who knew George and Clay personally was having a field day (especially Nick, who hadn't stopped spamming “BEACH DREAM????” in their Discord since the picture was uploaded).

It wasn't because Clay's face had been revealed. George wasn't an idiot, and he wasn't malicious. He'd covered up the Florida native's face with so many colorful scribbles that you couldn't even see Clay's hair. The pandemonium was because George had posted the picture in the first place.

“ _ARE THEY IN FLORIDA?_ ”

“ _WHY ARE THEY TOGETHER_ ”

“ _Wtf they really gonna pull this shit when George won't even say ily Dream on stream_ ”

“ _I’m so confuseddddd when did George go to Florida????_ ”

And, one particularly gold comment from Wilbur: “ _Why was I was not invited? :(_ ”

But none of that was why George was dumbfounded. No, it was one specific comment from one specific person.

 **dream** : _thanks for getting my good side, love you bby_

What the fuck. What the _fuck?_ George didn't have even anything intelligent to say, just... _what?_ On so many levels, George didn't understand. First off, Clay wasn't mad at him for posting the picture. Second... “ _love you bby?_ ” _What?_ George was way too tired to figure out what on earth his best friend meant by himself.

George poked his head out of the office. “Clay?” he called, waving his phone.

Clay, sitting on the couch, looked up from his phone. “Yeah?”

“What the hell is this?”

“Your phone?”

“No, idiot-” George cut himself off with a sigh and walked into the living room. He held his phone out to Clay, which displayed the taller man's comment on George's tweet. “What is this? Why'd you do this? I thought you'd just laugh or something.”

Clay chuckled. “I did laugh,” he said, giving George a bright grin. “And then I commented.”

George rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “I don't... okay, whatever. I don't get you.”

“You don't have to. Love you, baby.”

_SCREEEEAAAAAAA-_

“Clay, we're not dating,” George said, ignoring his brain's complete and utter panic. When he was tired, he had a bit more control over his emotions. Ironic, he knew.

Clay froze, and for a moment, George saw a mixture of hurt and guilt flash across the taller man's face. Then Clay was all smiles again, but it was laced with an undeniable sadness.

“Yeah, I know,” Clay said. His voice was a little ragged.

George frowned. Okay, that settled it. Something was very, very wrong. George had sensed it during lunch, and now, he was watching a conflict play out across Clay's face. To a certain extent, George knew that he had no right to even ask Clay what was going on. His best friend was entitled to his own life, and as much as George hated to admit it, he wasn't really a part of Clay's real life. He was just a virtual friend.

Really, George shouldn't even call Clay his best friend.

But that was all George's insecurity talking. Right now, Clay was all that mattered.

Despite the shame still running rampant in his head, George crossed the room and sank onto the couch. He barely stopped himself from laying a hand on Clay's arm. Somehow, it felt invasive.

“Clay, what's going on?” George asked softly. “I know something's wrong. I mean, you don't have to tell me, just... I'm here, okay? No matter what. I mean that.”

A pained look settled over Clay's face.

“Would you still say that if you hated me?”

George blinked. “I could never hate you. For anything. You made me strap a dog shocker to my arm and play Minecraft, and I still didn't hate you. I think that's a pretty good indicator of how I feel.”

A long silence stretched between them. Even though it was dangerous, George considered out what he could possibly hate Clay for. Pranks, he could forgive. Lying, to some extent, he could forgive, too. Jokes, arguments, and heated words, George could all forgive if he was given time and if they talked through the problem. They'd done it before. Their friendship wasn't perfect.

“George, I'm bi.”

It came so suddenly that for a second, George thought he'd imagined it. But then he realized that Clay was looking at him and that the words had been real.

“Okay,” George said. “Thank you for trusting me.”

And he meant it. Was that the thing that Clay had thought George would hate him for? If so... George felt kind of guilty. He was bi, and he'd never told Clay anything about it.

“Okay?” Clay repeated. “That's it? Just... okay?”

George lifted a shoulder. “Yeah. It's not a big deal. Eret's bi, Nikki's bi, Harvey's bi. Some of my other friends are part of the community, too. I won't ever hate you for that, Clay. It's not like you have a choice.”

 _And,_ the treacherous part of George's brain added gleefully, _it means that we have a chance._

 _Shut up,_ George snapped back. _This is about Clay. It doesn't matter what I want_.

Clay was staring at George, eyes wide and filled with a bit of a desperate edge. “Really?”

“Of course,” George murmured.

He couldn't hold back any longer. George leaned over and wrapped his arms around Clay's shoulders. The taller man immediately wilted into the embrace, and for the first time since lunch, Clay seemed to relax. _Was that what was bothering him?_ George wondered. It seemed to have come from nowhere, but George knew that such a confession weighed heavy on the soul. He knew it all too well.

“Thank you,” Clay croaked. He seemed truly exhausted all of a sudden, as if he'd just been released from a lifetime of work. “You don't... thank you, George.”

George just hugged his best friend tightly. The seconds bled into minutes, and eventually, George realized that he didn't know how long they'd been sitting together. George had moved to cradle Clay against him, and the other man now had an arm around George's waist. They were both slightly hunched, but it was surprisingly comfortable.

And, if nothing else, it was worth it for the way that Clay's shoulders gently rose and fell with the peace of sleep.

But George had to move them to their respective beds before it got too late.

“Clay,” he murmured. “You have to get up.”

He got nothing but a sleepy grumble in response. George hesitated, thinking. Then, against his better judgment, he slumped into the couch. Clay immediately stretched out, tangling their legs together and nuzzling into George's chest. George let out a quiet huff, unable to contain his surprise. Clay didn't even stir.

 _He's so warm,_ George thought weakly. _I should move._

But George was not a strong man. Not when it came to his best friend. Clay was half-draped across his chest, with one arm wrapped solidly around his waist. The taller man radiated a gentle warmth, and George was quickly being pulled into the embrace of sleep.

Would Clay be okay, George wondered, when he woke up the next morning and found them tangled together on the couch? It didn't really matter. George would be awake before him, and then he could make up a plausible story.

“George...”

Clay had shifted his head enough so that one sleepy eye could see at George.

“What, Clay?” George asked fondly.

“You're really comfortable. We should cuddle more.”

 _I'd like that._ “You're tired, Clay. We should get you to bed.”

“No.” Clay turned his face back into George's chest and hugged him tighter. “I'm not letting you go. You're mine.”

George sucked in a breath. Despite being half-asleep and clearly exhausted, Clay's voice carried a definite possessive edge. This time, George knew that he hadn't imagined it. It wasn't his crush talking, it wasn't his wishful thinking. It was real.

...it was real?

“I'm yours?” George croaked.

Clay looked up at him again, this time exposing both sleepy eyes. “Yeah. I'm not sharing.”

George's heart was racing, pounding against his ribcage. Oh, god, he was light-headed. Was he just interpreting things wrong? Or was it possible that Clay actually reciprocated his feelings?

...no. It was late. Clay wouldn't remember any of this in the morning.

But, apparently, the universe wasn't content with just crushing George's hopes. No, it wanted to make him suffer. So, just as George was about to tell Clay to get up and go to bed, the taller man shifted. George paused, thinking that Clay had something else to say. Instead, Clay leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to George's jaw.

“Goodnight,” the taller man murmured against George's neck.

 _HHHHHHAAAAAANNNNNGGGGGGAAAAAAA_ -

“Goodnight, Clay,” George managed. His voice cracked in at least five places.

Clay settled himself back into a comfortable position, which happened to be with his lips resting against George's exposed shoulder. _I think I'm going to fucking die,_ George thought hysterically. What was he supposed to do? Surely, he had to move, to preserve whatever shattered remains of heterosexuality existed in their current situation.

Who was George kidding? If anyone who didn't know him and Clay walked into the room, they would assume that the two were boyfriends. Some people who _knew_ him and Clay would probably say the same thing.

All that was left was for George to just enjoy the moment while it lasted. Clay wouldn't remember anything in the morning, and this would never happen again.

George took a shuddering breath, then relaxed. After a couple of tense minutes, he found himself drifting in and out of darkness, lulled to sleep by Clay's deep breathing.

“Mrrrrr?”

George looked up tiredly. Patches was sitting in the hallway to the office, watching them curiously.

“Can you turn the lights off?” George asked softly.

He'd been entirely joking. But, to his great surprise, Patches jumped and swiped at the light switch. The room was plunged into darkness.

 _That cat is a human in disguise,_ George thought. Then Clay snuggled a little bit closer, and George rested his chin in Clay's messy hair. _Just for tonight. Tomorrow, I never talk about this, and it never happens again._

Together, they drifted off to sleep.


	6. Breathe You In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings and salutations, friends! I've emerged from my month-long slumber with 10k for your reading pleasure! I didn't expect the chapter to be this long either, but I think that's just my trademark now lol.
> 
> Before we get started, I want to thank y'all for your continued support! I've gotten so many wonderful comments, and it means the world to me. Y'all keep my inspiration flowing! And yes, I've seen the comments asking about my posting schedule. I will address that in the endnotes!
> 
> Now, back to more dnf pining!
> 
> P.S. I recommend putting a soundtrack of soft love songs on while you read. I did so while writing this chapter, and trust me, you won't be disappointed. Enjoy :)

When the first and second well-dressed couples walked past them, George didn't bat an eye. But, when a third well-dressed couple passed them, George finally gave Clay a sidelong look. Clay cursed each of those couples to the depths of hell, then met George's curious gaze.

“What, George?” he asked evenly. “You've been eyeing me since Solstice Boulevard.”

“Well, you haven't told me where we're going,” George drawled. “So, there's that. Given all this mystery, I feel like I have the right to ask a question. Are you taking me on a date? Because this is a really nice neighborhood, those people looked really fancy, and I'm kind of scared that I'm underdressed.”

Clay knew what the right answer was. _Of course not, you're my best friend. I'm just taking you out to dinner._ But the right answer wasn't what pushed its way through his lips.

“Yes, this is a date.” Well, shit. Time to think on his feet. “Would I have booked reservations to one of the nicest restaurants around and told you to dig out a nice shirt if it wasn't? C'mon, George, I've got to at least try to impress you.”

George burst out laughing, and Clay grinned. But it was hollow, and in truth, the grin was just a disguise for his racing heart.

The answer was yes, it was a date. But Clay would never let himself say that. So, until something changed (for better or worse), he had to hide his real answer under half-truths and teasing. It wasn't the most honorable thing he'd ever done. But it alleviated the ache in his chest enough to allow him to breathe.

“I've already told you, you don't need to impress me,” George said, still laughing a little. “You- never mind.”

“What?” George's tone had changed, and now, Clay was curious. “No, what is it?”

“It's stupid.”

“I'm not going to laugh at you. Just say it.”

“Alright, alright. You... you already impress me, Clay. You don't need to try.”

Clay's heart punched straight through his chest and flew into the clouds. It should have been a wonderful feeling, but Clay just felt empty. Jesus, look at him. Reduced to a lovesick mess by two simple sentences. His frustration and misery cut through his ecstasy and brought him back to the ground with a dull thud. It stung like a fresh cut.

“Really?” Clay asked. He plastered the biggest grin he could muster onto his face and prayed that none of his pain slipped through. “What's so impressive about me?”

George groaned. “This is why I didn't want to tell you-"

“How about I make it even and say something nice about you?”

 _SHIT_.

George raised a slender eyebrow, and Clay's stomach bottomed out. Why had he said that? What the fuck had possessed him to say that?! He loved so many things about George, but he didn't know how to make any of them platonic!

...well, that wasn't true. Clay had fallen in love with George for plenty of reasons. Most of them had nothing to do with romance.

“Alright, I agree,” George said slowly. “What's something nice about me?”

They passed a bustling restaurant, and “something nice” popped into Clay's head. “You're always really nice to waiters,” he said. George huffed, and Clay smacked the shorter man's arm. “No, listen, listen. You never get mad at them. I know it's just, like, basic human kindness, but you didn't even get annoyed when that guy at the Indian place messed up your order. I just think that says a lot about you.”

George rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his expression stuck somewhere between a smile and a wince. Clay barely bit back a smile of his own. _He's so adorable_.

“I didn't think you were actually going to do it,” George mumbled. “I thought you were just gonna make fun of me.”

Clay chuckled, gently shoulder-checking the shorter man. “You know that I actually like you, right? I'm not mean all the time.”

George chewed his lip. Clay got distracted for just a moment, and immediately, irritation and guilt swept his happiness away. He _still_ couldn't keep a lid on his feelings. It was so fucking wrong for him to admire George while they were having a genuinely sweet conversation. It felt dirty. And that was completely ignoring the fact that it was wrong for Clay to admire George in general.

“You're not mean all the time,” George agreed quietly. That broke Clay out of his thoughts, and he gave the Brit his full attention. “You're really kind, actually. Like, you just brought me into your apartment, no questions asked. What if I was a slob? What if I was actually a terrible person, and you'd already said I could stay with you?”

George, a slob? That wasn't too off the mark, but it was still unbelievable. “I knew you weren't a terrible person before you came out here,” Clay said, and he grinned at the thought of George buried in a pile of snacks. “And you're kind of messy, but you're not that bad. Even if you were a total slob, I wouldn't kick you out over something like that. We'd work something out.”

George didn't say anything, and for a moment, Clay felt a flash of irrational panic. But when he glanced at the Brit, George didn't look upset. In fact, he was giving Clay a glowing smile.

“That's the kindness I'm talking about,” George said. “You're a good person, Clay. I'm lucky to have you around.”

Clay's heart swelled. But it wasn't the panicked, fluttery feeling that he'd gotten used to. This time, he just felt at peace. It was like everything was suddenly right in the world. “I'm lucky to have you too, George,” he murmured. He slung an arm around George's shoulders, and for a moment, they just leaned into each other, steps perfectly synchronized.

Despite all the chaos in his head, Clay was perfectly happy with them not going on a date. In a way, it was better. He didn't have to feel weird about who would pay or what was expected of him afterward. Clay just got to enjoy a night out with his best friend.

That didn't stop the nerves racing in his belly, though.

“Are you sure I'm not underdressed?” George asked suddenly. “Because I am positive that I'm underdressed. I'm too fucking plain for this neighborhood.”

“You're _fine_ ,” Clay drawled. In his eyes, George looked achingly handsome, but that was neither here nor there. “Look, the golden rule of Florida is that you never have to dress up. Besides, we're not going to, like, a 'suit and tie' restaurant. Those places are way too uptight and boring.”

“Of course. You can't have the waiters cramping your style.”

“I'm proud of you. You're catching on.”

George snorted, and the two of them lapsed into silence. They were quickly approaching the restaurant, and while Clay was excited, his nerves were also getting steadily worse.

“Oh, I never told you.”

Clay glanced over expectantly. George was already looking back at him, a crooked smile on his lips.

“You look very handsome,” the Brit said, poking Clay in the ribs. “It's almost like you're trying to impress someone.”

Clay took a quiet breath before he responded. “Just you, George.”

_This is just dinner with a friend. It's not a date, just dinner. I'm taking him out to eat because I promised to pay for everything, and I didn't feel like cooking. That's it. There's nothing else to this._

But each step made it harder and harder for Clay to believe himself. His racing heartbeat and jittery hands told a very different story to the narrative he was trying to write. Clay didn't know how much longer he could hold onto his false story. One way or another, his feelings were going to come tumbling out.

Clay didn't know what would happen when he couldn't keep them in anymore.

Two minutes later, he and George arrived at the restaurant. George let out a quiet gasp, and Clay grinned, pleased with the reaction. He'd picked correctly.

The restaurant was a squat building with white, stucco walls and a cobblestone path tracing up to the front door. But its beauty didn't just come from its simplicity. Thin strands of amber lights ran along the front of the building and on top of the overhangs. Firefly-filled lanterns hung from the trees, and laughter from the people standing around filled the air.

“This is beautiful,” George breathed.

The shorter man's face looked ethereal in the amber glow.

“Yeah, it is,” Clay said softly. He guided George towards the front door and pulled it open, waving the Brit through before stepping inside himself.

The restaurant was even more beautiful on the inside. The walls were covered with flourishes of paint and lined with more strings of amber lights. A couple of tables were scattered around, but the main attraction was clearly outside. Glass doors led to a patio, and the blue of the ocean was vaguely visible beyond the oak railings.

“Clay...” George's face shone with delight, and Clay's insides melted into mush. “Oh my god...”

“Do you have a reservation, sir?”

A host stood at a nearby podium, patiently waiting for one of them to notice his presence. Clay cleared his throat, embarrassed, then responded.

“Yeah, party of two for Clay. We're out on the patio.”

George's eyes somehow got wider, and the host sent Clay a warm, knowing smile.

“I've got you right here, sir,” the host said, grabbing two menus from a pouch. “Please follow me.”

As the host headed for the glass doors, Clay gently nudged George into motion. The Brit leaned into his touch a little before stumbling forward, and Clay's stomach rippled. This wasn't a date. This wasn't a date, goddamnit!

Then they were out on the patio, and Clay was presented with one of the most breathtaking views he'd ever seen. The ocean had to be less than a mile away, lapping against golden shores and catching the first rays of the slowly setting sun. Clay had been to this restaurant before, but he'd never been with George. Somehow, everything looked... better.

Clay glanced at his shorter companion. George's eyes were alight with joy, and his face was stretched into an awestruck smile. God, Clay would give anything to stay in this moment. He wanted to capture how happy George looked and hold onto it forever.

“What do you think?” Clay asked softly.

George looked at him, and the admiration in his gaze made Clay's lungs feel like jelly. “Clay, this is amazing,” the Brit laughed. “I don't... I don't understand. How did you-? Wait, come on, we lost the waiter!”

George grabbed Clay's arm and pulled him towards the host, who was waiting next to a table at the patio's edge. Clay let himself be dragged without a single protest. It was ironic, wasn't it? Clay had never liked being pulled around, but it felt like the best thing in the world when George did.

“Someone will be out to take your orders shortly,” the host said, once Clay and George had finally taken their seats. “Can I start you off with any drinks? Perhaps a martini?”

“Iced tea,” Clay said. George snorted, and Clay shot the shorter man a glare. “Anything for you, _Georgie?_ ”

“Just water,” George added innocently. “Nothing fancy.”

The host inclined his head slightly and headed back into the restaurant. As soon as he left, George gave Clay a disbelieving grin.

“Really? Iced tea?”

Clay flicked the Brit's hand. “Don't make fun of me; you got water,” he chuckled. “You'll understand once you try some. Florida's iced tea is-”

“-is the best out of anywhere else,” George completed tiredly, giving Clay a long-suffering look. “I get it.”

“Yeah, see? I told Florida is the best.”

The next couple of minutes were spent in quiet conversation. George rambled about how much he loved the view, and Clay happily listened, tracing George's dimples and gentle smile. George's good looks had never been in question, even when Clay hadn't had a crush, but he was starting to see the subtlety of his best friend's beauty. George's smile was so soft and warm, and his eyes caught every color of the sunset and reflected them tenfold.

Clay was enamored. There was no other word for it.

When he'd woken up that morning, Clay had found himself sprawled across his couch, his arms and legs tangled with George's. He'd been so comfortable that for a good five minutes, he hadn't even moved. When George had finally started to stir, the gravity of the situation had sunk in. Even worse, Clay had remembered what he'd done the previous night.

He'd confessed something incredibly personal, then kissed George on the jaw, then passed out. Not one of Clay's finest moments.

Once George had blinked himself awake, Clay had played off the whole thing, joking that it was too warm to cuddle in Florida. George had laughed, and Clay had thanked his lucky stars that somehow, nothing was broken.

But he couldn't shake the memory of holding George close as sunlight streamed through the window.

“You're staring at me.”

“Huh?” Clay snapped out of his thoughts and found George giving him an amused smile. “Sorry, what'd you say?”

“You're staring at me,” George repeated, with a quiet chuckle. “Let me guess, I just look that good?”

“Uh...” _Yes, you do. You look so good, and Jesus, I wish I could tell you that without sounding really, really gay._

George raised an eyebrow. “I don't look good?”

“Oh, shut up, you look amazing.”

 _Fuck_.

For a moment, Clay's brain completely shorted out. After a brief moment of internal screaming, Clay swallowed his panic and gave George his best dazzling smile. He'd made up this story on their way to the restaurant, so maybe he could keep it going.

“You're beautiful, George; I've told you that before,” Clay continued. “Inside and out.”

Hopefully, between the fading light and his cocky tone, George wouldn't be able to tell that Clay was deathly pale.

The Brit's smile was brilliant but mischievous. “You've never told me that, Clay. Are you trying to impress me again? Make like the dashing prince you are and sweep me off my feet?”

_Wh- what- I- what- huh-_

Clay took another deep breath, then bent in a mock bow. “My prince,” he drawled. “And yes, I've told you before, but for your sake, I'll tell you again. You're beautiful.”

“Clay, stop it,” George chuckled. “I'm trying to make fun of you. Don't be nice.”

Nice. Yes. That's what Clay was being. Nice.

“Sorry, I'm just too much of a good person,” is what he said aloud.

After a couple more minutes of bickering (in which Clay finally managed to get his racing heart under control), a waitress arrived. They ran through their orders with minimal problems; Clay ordering laulau and George opting for kalua pig. However, neither of them were familiar with Hawaiian food, so they were both taking a complete shot in the dark.

“I think we're going to regret this,” George muttered once the waitress had walked away.

Clay grinned. “If we do, we can go home and make something. I'd love to show you my two-minute rice.”

“I thought the brand was Minute Rice.”

“It is, but if you add another minute and some spices and meats, it tastes so much better.”

George chuckled lightly. “You're going to have to show me all of this stuff. I expect our next home-cooked meal to be very educational.”

Clay tipped his head and took a sip of his iced tea. “Don't worry, I keep my promises.”

They fell into silence, a comfortable peace hanging over their table. But nerves still raced under Clay's skin, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered what would happen once they went home. Clay barely kept from scowling, and he mentally slapped himself as hard as he could. Enough was enough, for _fuck's_ sake. He just wanted to enjoy a quiet night with George!

Clay sighed to himself and shook his head, clearing away any negative thoughts. “What do you want to learn first?” he asked aloud.

George, who had been gazing out over the ocean once again, gave him a confused look. “Hmm? Learn what?”

“To cook. I know a lot, so you need to narrow it down a little."

“Oh!” George rested his chin on his hand. “Homemade pizza,” the shorter man decided, after a moment of silence. “I've always wanted to know how to make everything from scratch.”

Clay ran through his mental database and picked out a couple of homemade pizza recipes that he'd collected. He wasn't very fond of the healthier options, but they were worth mentioning. After all, he'd promised his best friend a lesson of anything he wanted.

“Healthy or traditional?” Clay asked, still flipping through his recipes.

George scrunched up his nose. “What's the difference?”

“Healthy pizza means a thinner crust, less gluten, all that. Spinach, herbs, no meat. Traditional is good pizza.”

“You're very biased, aren't you? I'll go with traditional.”

Clay grinned broadly and discarded the healthy pizza recipes. “Good. There are two varieties that I can think of, so you'll have to make another choice later. Sorry, George, we're going to have to go shopping again. We might as well make a whole afternoon of it.”

George groaned, leaning back in his chair. For a sudden, panicked moment, Clay thought that his best friend was about to go tumbling backward. Before he could even think about what he was doing, Clay grabbed George's right hand and pulled the shorter man back into an upright position. Horror replaced the panic in a rush. _Why'd I do that? He was fine! He-_

“I refuse to go shopping with you again,” George whined.

_...what? Doesn't he care?_

“I'd probably run into your friends again,” George continued, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I'm too tired to deal with them right now. I need another day to relax.”

Clay quickly released George's hand (hopefully before the shorter man noticed how shaky he was), then tried for a chuckle. It didn't quite come out the right way, but it was close enough. “Again, you decided to go to lunch with them,” he said slowly. “I don't know why you're still blaming me.”

George rolled his eyes. “It wasn't all my fault. You convinced me, too.”

They spent the next couple of minutes arguing about whether they should go shopping again, at which point Clay was saved by their food arriving. Clay allowed himself a quiet sigh as they dug in.

He felt terrible about it, but Clay couldn't focus on their meal. He was overwhelmed by his emotions, and he felt so, so stupid. Clay wasn't even having a good time. He just felt dishonest and weird. George was in Florida to have fun and get away from his day-to-day life. Clay was there to help him have fun, and yet, he was acting so fucking dumb.

Maybe taking a second to breathe would be enough to reset his head.

“I'll be back in a second,” Clay said, already getting to his feet.

George flopped a hand in agreement and continued to eat. Clay was kind of relieved by that. He didn't have a good answer for why he was walking away.

Clay headed back into the restaurant and quickly found a chair tucked into the corner of the room. It was cramped, but it was the only spot that was hidden from the patio. Clay collapsed onto the chair, exhausted. What did he have to do to let his feelings go?

“Sir? Are you alright?”

Clay looked up, startled. The host stood in front of him, visibly concerned.

“I'm just stressed,” Clay mumbled. “I'm sorry if I'm getting in your way. I just need a minute.”

The host peered out onto the patio, then looked back to Clay. He still hadn't lost his concerned frown. “Are you sure you're feeling alright?” the host repeated. “If you'd like, I can call your date in to take care of you.”

Panic knifed through Clay's heart. “No, don't get George. The last thing I need is for him to-” The host's words suddenly registered, and Clay's hands started to shake. “D-did you say date?”

“Oh.” The host winced slightly, and he edged out of the patio's view. “I'm sorry, sir, I shouldn't have assumed. You said you didn't want your friend in here?”

Somehow, the correction stung more than the host's original words. Clay slumped into the chair. “No, I'm fine,” he muttered. “It just hurts. Being in love is so fucking stressful. I know that it's not supposed to be like this. It's all so stupid, and it doesn't make any sense. Everything is so much harder than it has to be! I just want to have dinner! I don't need-”

_Did I just spill my entire fucking love life to this random man?_

“Shit, I'm sorry.” Clay sighed gave the host an apologetic look. “I'll tip well when I leave. I'm really sorry.”

The host just looked at Clay for a moment. Eventually, he nodded slightly and said,

“I'm sorry for assuming that you and your friend were on a date. You just looked so happy together. Please let me know if you need anything.”

With that, the host walked away. Clay stared after the man, and he could feel his tired brain overheating. What the hell had that meant? Had the host been implying that it was okay to be gay and in love with his best friend? Or was Clay just really tired and overthinking?

It was probably the latter.

Clay pulled his legs to his chin and buried his face in his knees. If he was honest, his mental health had been steadily decreasing since the day he'd realized his love for George. Everything that he couldn't have and everything he shouldn't feel was tearing him apart. Clay hated that he couldn't just enjoy George's company anymore.

It was even worse because, at one point, Clay had loved George platonically. At one point, his own thoughts hadn't made him feel sick. Why couldn't he go back to that?

 _I just want it to go away,_ Clay thought desperately. He pressed his hands into his temples, trying to stop the void of anguish from swallowing him whole. _Why do I have to love George? Why him? Why couldn't it be anyone else that would be easier to love?_

For a brief eternity, all that Clay could feel was despair and hurt. Then a thought spread through Clay's mind like a beam of light in the darkest cave.

_I love George because he's George._

How many years had Clay known the Brit? God, it felt like they'd been friends forever, and Clay genuinely couldn't imagine a life where he didn't text George every day. Somewhere along the line, Clay had accidentally woven George into the very fabric of his life. With the proximity that he'd created, Clay had gotten to know every piece of the man he called his best friend. They'd fought and worked it out; laughed and made memories.

Without the love that Clay now felt for George, who knew how long it would have taken them to visit each other? Maybe Clay's possessive nature wouldn't have been so strong, and maybe they would have drifted away from each other. But, for better or worse, Clay would never know the alternative.

Even if his feelings were never returned, Clay got to look at George and see how beautiful his best friend was. When he said that George looked handsome, he meant it. George made Clay's world so much brighter, and George didn't ask a single thing in return. They were just that close.

If one day, George found someone that he loved, hopefully, Clay would have moved on by then. Maybe he could be their best man or something.

But until then, Clay got George to himself. Even now, Clay had the Brit living with him for a whole month! No one would disturb them, and, for better or worse once again, Clay got to love his best friend in peace.

Slowly, Clay rose from his throne of misery. His legs were still shaking, and he still didn't feel 100%, but he was better. There was no use in moping around when his best friend was sitting outside, waiting for him. Clay only had one chance at life. He had to enjoy every second. With new purpose (and some of the soul-crushing guilt gone from his shoulders), Clay strode towards the doors.

“Are you feeling better, sir?”

Clay glanced over his shoulder. The host met his gaze with a knowing look, and Clay cracked a small smile. “Yeah, I'm fine,” he called. “Thank you. I can find my way back to my table.”

The host inclined his head a little, and Clay chuckled to himself. Who would have thought that a complete stranger would be the one to help him through his problems? Well, his problems weren't gone, but they were better. Better was something that Clay could work with.

As soon as Clay pushed through the doors, he found George's dark eyes already searching for him. He bit back a smile as he strode over to their table.

“Were you waiting for me?” he asked. George made a face, and Clay chuckled, sinking back into his seat. “Oh my god, you were. George, that's adorable.”

George made another face, swallowed loudly, then glared at Clay. “I wasn't waiting,” he protested. The Brit pointed his fork at Clay, and Clay silently wondered if George actually thought he looked threatening. “You were just gone for long enough that I was getting worried.”

Clay nodded sagely. “So you weren't waiting. You were worried.”

“I can't win with you,” George sighed. The smile slowly dropped from the Brit's face, and he gave Clay a searching look. “Clay, are you alright? You've been kind of off since we got here. And you just disappeared for, like, ten minutes. It's not really my place, but, just- are you okay?”

Guilt tried to crush Clay's heart, but he steeled his resolve. He wouldn't be magically cured of all his issues if he felt himself fall into old habits. It was a work in progress. “I'm sorry for worrying you,” Clay said gently. “Honestly, I was kind of stressed. I didn't know if you'd like it here, and... you mean a lot to me, George. I don't want to mess anything up.”

It still wasn't the full truth. But it was a step in the right direction, and it lifted some of the weight from Clay's shoulders. What a revolutionary concept. Lying to his best friend made him feel bad.

A soft smile flickered across George's face. “Don't worry so much, Clay,” the Brit chuckled. “Stop making me feel sappy.”

“You're a sap with or without me,” Clay said lightly, which earned him an annoyed grumble. “Oh, come on, you know it's true.”

“Whatever. Do me a favor and try some of my food so I can stop feeling guilty for eating yours.”

Clay glanced down at his plate. Sure enough, a couple pieces of meat were missing. “You asshole,” he snorted, and George made an offended noise. “I was over there, having a crisis on your behalf, and you were eating my food?” Clay looked between their two plates, then reached for George's. “Alright, I'll just finish yours, then.”

George's shriek of horror earned them several confused glances from the other patrons, but Clay really couldn't find it in himself to care. He just smiled and laughed and batted George's hands away.

_You're such a gift, George._

——————

George tossed his napkin onto the table and leaned back in his chair. “That was so much better than I expected,” he sighed happily. He'd basically licked his plate clean, and he had absolutely no regrets about the experience. “We've got to come back here.”

His best friend raised an eyebrow. “This wasn't cheap food, George,” Clay chuckled. “I'm not made of money.”

George immediately started to feel bad, but that was just his insecurities talking. Clay had agreed to pay for his expenses before he'd even arrived in Florida. Besides, it wasn't like George was actively pushing to go to super expensive restaurants and buy ridiculously priced souvenirs. Clay just kept surprising him with sweet gestures.

Still, it was starting to feel like Clay was his sugar daddy, and George refused to let that be the case. It was just too weird.

“I know you're not made of money,” George drawled. “So, I'll pay for this one.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket and stuck three £20 notes at Clay. Well, it was technically the American version of £20 since Clay had convinced him to convert his money. George had no idea what £60 was in American dollars, but he was pretty sure it covered the cost of their dinner.

For a moment, Clay just stared at him. Then the Florida native brushed George's money away and reached for his own wallet. “George, no,” Clay said flatly. “You're not paying.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

George scoffed and held out his money once again. “Clay, I am literally draining your money. Let me pay for something.”

They held each other's gazes for a couple of seconds. George's mind got a little distracted by Clay's bright eyes, but he refused to let his concentration waver. He wasn't losing this argument, goddamnit! He was a grown man, and he was going to use his money!

Finally, Clay broke with a heavy sigh. “You're supposed to split on the first date anyway, right?” the Florida native muttered. “So, fine, we'll split.”

“This isn't a date,” George protested, though it pained him to say so. “Don't try to use that logic on me!”

Clay gave George a sickly sweet smile. “Sure, dear.”

Splitting was better than nothing. But, as George watched Clay put their money together, he was almost positive that the Florida native didn't split the bill at all. George would have called him out, but he had no frame of reference for how much things cost in America. That didn't stop him from giving Clay an annoyed scowl and getting another sweet smile in response.

Clay tucked their combined money under their stack of plates, then led the way out of the restaurant. The host wished them a good night, and George just had time to see a knowing smile flit across the man's face before the doors closed. Why the smile, George didn't know. But maybe it was just one of those nights. The setting sunlight cast over the empty street and gave everything an ethereal, amber glow. It felt like George was walking on a different planet.

“We spent a while in there,” George noted absently. “It was totally worth it. That view was amazing.”

Clay chuckled and gently took George's elbow, leading them down the street. “That's one of the better spots in town,” the Florida native agreed. “But there are some better lookouts, and they're free. You just have to know where they are.”

George chuckled. “Are those the 'good spots' that Jacob said you know about?”

A flash of nervousness crossed Clay's face before it disappeared into cool amusement. “Something like that.”

On another night, George would have pressed the issue. But at the moment, he was content to let it be and walk in silence. His stomach and his mind were both at peace, and the setting sun made him feel like he was walking through a dream.

George glanced at Clay, and a fuzzy feeling invaded his mind, pulling his lips into a soft smile. He was definitely walking next to a dream.

It was touching how worried Clay got about him. It could be overbearing at times, but ultimately, it made George feel warm. For years, he'd had Clay worry about him over calls and texts (“George, go to sleep. It's, like, 2 am for you.”), but it was different in person. It was all so different in person. Being in Florida with Clay was such a joy, and George wished he could explain to Clay how happy he was.

The Florida native suddenly looked at him, and George's heart skipped a couple beats. The taller man's eyes glittered with a hypnotic light.

“I wish you could see the sunset,” Clay said, and disappointment rang clear in his voice. “It's one of my favorite things about living out here.”

George lifted a shoulder awkwardly. He saw enough of the sunset in Clay's eyes that he didn't really want the real thing, but that wasn't exactly something he could say out loud.

“It's okay,” George said eventually. “I'm used to not seeing it wherever I go. There's plenty of other stuff to look at that, so I don't mind missing out.” He looked past Clay and spent a moment admiring the sunset in question. Streaks of yellow and gray colored the sky, mixing together and dissolving into the sunlight. George had to admit that the sunset was prettier here than it was in England.

Clay sighed. “It's not the same without it. It's not...” Clay gestured vaguely. “The Florida experience.”

George cocked an eyebrow. “This isn't Disneyland, Clay.”

Clay's lip jutted out in a pout, and the taller man shoved his hands into his pockets. “You're such an idiot.”

George chuckled at how ridiculously childish the Florida native looked. “But I'm your idiot,” he added, and he shot Clay a cheeky smile.

For a couple of seconds, Clay was quiet. Then he heaved a heavy sigh and slung an arm around George's shoulders, tugging them together. “Yeah, yeah, you are,” Clay said absently. His lips curled into a faint grin, and the sunlight chose that moment to hit the side of Clay's face, enveloping him in a halo of light.

George's breath caught in his throat. Clay looked angelic.

Christ, there was something wrong with him. Clay's warmth and presence and smile and _everything_ made George feel so, so safe. He was so close to melting into a puddle just from Clay's arm around his shoulders. If George had a choice, he wouldn't leave. But maybe that was just the food talking.

...no, it wasn't. George wanted more than a month. He wanted to stay with Clay for so much longer.

“Hey.”

George glanced up and raised an eyebrow at his best friend, even as he melted a little more at Clay's soft smile.

“Can we make one more stop before we go home?” Clay asked. “There's one more thing I wanna do.”

“My feet are tired,” George whined. Clay chuckled and pulled George closer, which resulted in George's senses being flushed with serotonin. Well, fuck. “But, sure, fine, just for you. It better be close, though."

“It is, I promise.”

Ten minutes later, George found himself standing outside of a small ice cream shop. Lights glittered in the displays, which proudly displayed pictures of celebrities that had visited the shop. Inside, George could make out a crowd of people and a large ordering board. Even though the shop was nowhere near as extravagant as the Hawaiian restaurant, George felt the same fluttery excitement pick up in his stomach.

“Let me guess,” he said. “This is a local spot?”

Clay flashed him a wide grin. “And it's home to the best ice cream you'll find anywhere. No, don't even argue with me. Just follow me.”

Clay grabbed George's arm and started to pull him into the little shop. For a couple of seconds, George just laughed and let himself be dragged. Then he remembered why he was in nice jeans, and his conscience came flaring back to life.

“No, Clay, you're spending too much on me,” George said, stubbornly digging in his heels.

“Oh my god,” Clay sighed. He gave George an exasperated, if fond, look, and George's resolve wavered. “Alright, look. If you let me treat you one more time tonight, I won't spend a ton more on you. I promise.”

A promise was all well and good, but Clay's and George's ideas of a “ton of money” could be very different. There were so many loopholes that it couldn't even be considered a solid deal. But... ice cream did sound amazing. And with the puppy dog eyes that Clay was giving him, what was George supposed to say? No?

George exhaled heavily, and a beaming smile immediately broke out over Clay's face. Before George could protest further, the Florida native dragged him into the shop.

The inside of the ice cream shop was even more cheerful than the outside. Laughter and chatter filled the air, and people sat at small tables, all wielding cones of bright ice cream. It felt like family and community and life. When George glanced at Clay, he found all the joy present in the shop reflected in the taller man's eyes. _No wonder this is one of Clay's favorite places,_ George thought.

“You might want to start picking a flavor now,” Clay murmured suddenly, leaning down to hook his chin on George's shoulder. “There's a lot of options.”

A shiver ran down George's spine at Clay's voice in his ear. But he quickly shook off the feeling and scanned the list. Oh, _Jesus_ , there was a lot. George didn't usually eat a lot of ice cream, and he definitely didn't eat unusual ice cream flavors. What on earth was Seawater Caramel? Or Flaming Hot Apple Spice?

A couple of minutes later, they made it to the counter, and a bubble of anxiety rose in George's chest. Then an older man with kind eyes appeared on the other side of the counter, and George's anxiety magically melted away.

“Ah, Clay, it's good to see you,” the man said. His name-tag read “Mike,” and a warm smile touched his face. It seemed like he'd been borne out of all the joy in the shop.

“It's good to see you too, Mike,” Clay said fondly. “This is George. It's his first time out here, so I brought him here.”

Mike turned his smile on George. “It's a pleasure to meet you, George. What can I get for you?”

And George's anxiety was back. He gazed up at the list of ice creams and felt his head. Oh, Christ, all the options were dizzy him dizzy. After a torturous thirty seconds, George broke, and he gave Clay a helpless look.

Clay gave Mike an innocent smile. “Two house specials,” the Florida native said. His voice was just as innocent as his smile, and now that the pressure was off, George could see that Clay's smile was too pure.

“Clay, what's a house special?” George asked suspiciously. “I've been looking at these flavors, and I'm not blind. What is it? Salmon and rose petals?”

Mike chuckled, and he gave George a conspiratorial smile. “I'm glad you can see through this one's games,” the older man said. He pointed at Clay, who smiled sheepishly. “The House Special is a mashup that would sting your tastebuds for days. Anyone who lives around here knows better than to get a Special. And, if you'd been watching his pockets, he would have slipped me a little extra, so I'd give him something else.”

George gave Clay a flat look. “Really?” he asked archly. “That's why you wanted to come here? After _promising_ to show me a good time?”

“Oh, come on, Mike,” Clay sighed, but a fond smile crept at the corners of his mouth. “George, it's a tradition, okay? It's our way of having some fun with the tourists.”

“'Fun?' You're insane. And since when am I a tourist?”

Mike cleared his throat, breaking through their banter. “Might I recommend the Double Chocolate Spearmint?” he asked lightly. George frowned at the combination, and Mike gestured to a tub next to the counter. As far as George could guess, it was either yellow or green. He couldn't tell. “It's sweet and rich, and it'll leave you with a minty taste on your tongue.”

“Just like you, Clay,” George muttered.

_Oh, fuck, did I really just say that?_

For a second, George was prepared to pack his bags and fly right back to England. Then he heard the Florida native choke, and satisfaction bloomed in his chest like a spring flower. Never mind. If he'd knocked Clay off-balance, then whatever embarrassment he felt was well worth it.

George turned back to Mike and grinned. “I'll take the recommendation,” he said brightly.

Mike nodded once, then gave Clay an amused smile. “And for you, Clay?”

George glanced at his best friend and found Clay with one hand over his mouth and his cheeks bright red. The Florida native coughed, then said, “Uh, Frosted Cherry.” _Surprisingly appropriate,_ George thought, and he smirked a little. It was fun to be the one teasing Clay, instead of the other way around.

“Double Chocolate Spearmint and Frosted Cherry coming right up,” Mike chuckled. He shooed them both out of the way. “Stand over there, and I'll bring you your ice creams in a minute.”

They complied and moved to the other end of the counter. Clay was still bright red, and George was just itching to make a smart remark. But for the sake of keeping the peace, he kept his mouth shut. However, when Clay glanced at him, George just couldn't help a giddy grin. Clay scowled.

“I fucking hate you, George.”

As soon as Mike brought their ice cream cones, Clay dropped money into the older man's free hand and rushed out of the store. George wasn't quite so eager to leave, and he gave Mike the same grin that he'd given Clay.

“Thank you very much, Mike,” he said. “This looks delicious.”

“Of course.” Mike glanced out the window to where Clay was visible, then looked back at George with a small smile. “You know, this is the first time Clay has ever brought anyone in here,” the older man said quietly. “It's very good to meet you, George. If you want a nice place to enjoy that ice cream, I suggest going down the street. A small pier was just built, and it has a great view of the sunset.”

George knew what the older man assumed. It was what everyone who had met Clay and George thus far assumed. But, for once, George didn't want to correct it. Clay was standing outside, bathed in golden light, and George was a little too selfish not to pretend that Clay was his.

“Thanks for the heads up. We'll go down there.”

With that, George wove his way through the other patrons waiting for their ice cream and exited the shop. He stood at Clay's side, and for a moment, they were both quiet, quietly digging into their ice creams. George was just doing so to hide his grin.

Their silence was finally broken as Clay shot George a glare. “What the hell was that, George?” he demanded. “I've known that guy since I was a kid. Now he probably thinks-”

“Thinks what?” George cut in, and he finally let his shit-eating grin shine through. “That you're having a torrid affair with the Brit that flew out here for a holiday?”

Mike seemed to think that they were just a sweet couple, but Clay didn't need to know that.

Clay kept glaring. “I'm going to say that on our next stream.”

“I'm sure you will.”

Clay huffed loudly and took a bite of his ice cream. It was so petulant and ridiculous that George burst out laughing. He doubled over in hysterics, trying to get his laughter under control. When George finally, finally managed to take a gasping breath of air, he found Clay watching him with bright eyes.

“You're such an idiot,” the Florida native said warmly.

“At least I'm not you,” George said, still laughing a little. “Wait, wait, one more thing before we go home. I got a recommendation from a local.”

Clay cocked an eyebrow but waved his free hand. “Lead the way.”

George did just that, guiding the two of them down the street. As they walked, their earlier banter quickly returned, and George got so distracted that he almost walked past the pier. Then he caught himself and gently tugged Clay's sleeve.

“Over here,” he announced.

Clay glanced beyond George, and his eyes widened. “This is new,” he breathed. “Oh my god, George, look.”

Before George could respond, Clay jogged to the end of the short pier. George trailed him slowly, smiling at the taller man's enthusiasm. Eventually, George caught up, and he settled himself at Clay's side. The Florida native's face was alight with joy as he leaned over the railing, his eyes roving over the setting sun.

Clay really was beautiful. Inside and out.

“How'd you know about this?” Clay asked. George smiled faintly, and Clay sighed. “Mike. Of course.”

“He was sweet,” George protested. “And besides, it'll take, what, two extra minutes to get home?”

Clay rolled his eyes. “It's your feet. You were complaining all day yesterday.”

George grinned and nudged the taller man in the ribs. “Well, you'll just give them a massage, right? Because you're my wonderful boyfriend, and I'm-”

“Shut up, George.”

“Are you joking? I'm never going to let you forget that.”

The sun finally dipped below the horizon. The last rays lit up the ocean, and the water sparkled like gemstones in the sand. George gently leaned into Clay's side, and the Florida native wrapped an arm around his shoulders. The warmth and safety that George was beginning to know well wove its way into his chest. George heaved a quiet breath.

“Thank you, Clay,” he murmured.

“For what?”

Clay's voice was a quiet breath in George's ear, and his heart glowed.

“Everything.”

——————

Clay peered into the living room and sighed. “Stop giving Patches so much attention,” he ordered. “She's never going to leave me alone once you're gone.”

George didn't look up from his phone, nor did he stop petting Patches, who was curled up on his lap. “I guess that means that I can't leave.”

 _Don't I wish_. “Stop,” Clay repeated, chuckling. “The popcorn is almost done. If you weren't so hungry all the fucking time, I'd _already be sitting down_. My feet are tired too, George. Do you think that I can just walk around all day and feel fine?”

George finally looked up, and he gave Clay an innocent look. “Come on, it's for me. Your beautiful boyfriend.”

Clay rolled his eyes and turned back into the kitchen, ignoring George's snickers. But as soon as he was out of George's line of sight, he let out a heavy breath and rested his head against the fridge. Clay completely understood why Mike had thought they were together. Everyone seemed to think so, even the people that knew Clay and George weren't together. But that didn't make it any less painful.

“It'll be fine,” Clay muttered aloud. Maybe if he repeated it enough, he'd believe it.

“Clay! I want my popcorn.”

Clay's momentary misery disappeared. “Alright, alright!” he shouted back. He dropped a few more pinches of salt into the pot of popcorn, then turned off the fire. Home-popped popcorn always beat any kind of store-bought popcorn. Clay filled up two (admittedly huge) bowls, then headed back into the living room. He paused for just a moment, appreciating the scene before him.

George was curled up on the couch, eyes now fixed on the tv. He was tucked under Clay's favorite blanket, and Patches sat next to him, tail flicking as the Brit petted her. It was so... domestic. Clay loved it. He knew that life wasn't a fairy tale, but damn if this wasn't close to a dream come true.

George's dark eyes suddenly met Clay's, and a brilliant smile spread across the Brit's face. “Get over here,” he whined. “ _Popcorn_.”

Right, that's what he was doing. Clay shook himself out of his stupor and flopped onto the couch next to George. He handed over one of the bowls of popcorn, knocked away Patches' outstretched paw, then glanced at the tv. Disney+ was open, and the Mandalorian's first episode was ready to be played.

Clay glanced at George. “Seriously?”

“What?” the Brit demanded. “I'm sorry that I didn't watch it when it first came out, okay? I've never been super into Star Wars. But everyone loves this show, apparently, so... I wanna see it.”

“You're in for a treat,” Clay chuckled. He plucked the remote from under Patches' paw, which earned him a bothered “mrrp!”, and pressed “enter.” “It's a great show. I think you'll like it.”

“Mm.”

George's mouth was already filled with popcorn. Clay shook his head a little and wrapped an arm around the Brit's shoulders, settling into the couch.

Why they had decided to watch the Mandalorian after an already long day was completely beyond Clay. They'd spend the best part of the morning coding a plugin for a new video, and after lots of trial error, they'd gone out to dinner. Then they'd gotten ice cream, then done dishes, and now, they were on the couch. Clay had expected George to go straight to bed, but no. The Brit had suggested some tv.

Clay didn't understand, but he wasn't complaining. Rewatching the Mandalorian with George was, in his opinion, time well spent.

After a very entertaining first episode (“Why did no one tell me this show was so good?” George wailed as the credits rolled. “We did,” Clay chuckled. “Shut up!”), Clay refilled their bowls.

“How do you even make popcorn so amazing?” George asked as Clay settled back onto the couch.

Clay barely contained his self-satisfied grin. “I'm just that good,” he said, giving George a wink. “And I know a couple of tricks.”

“I'd be more ready to believe that you're magic,” George muttered, and he promptly popped a whole handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Mmph! God, you have to give me every single recipe that you have.”

“Sorry, my recipes stay with me. You have to learn it for yourself or just let me make it for you.”

Clay couldn't decide which option he liked better.

After the second episode, George was clearly getting tired. He was still enthusiastic about his newfound favorite show, but he'd only finished half of his popcorn, and he was slumped into Clay's side.

“Do you want to go to bed?” Clay asked, amused.

“Play the fucking episode, Clay,” George muttered back, resting his head against Clay's chest.

Halfway through the third episode, George was asleep. The Brit had tucked himself onto his side and curled against Clay's side. His popcorn was completely abandoned next to him, and his socks poked out from underneath his blanket.

“You should have just gone to bed, George,” Clay murmured. He carefully moved both of their bowls on the coffee table, then checked to make sure that he hadn't woken up George. Nothing. The Brit hadn't even stirred. “You're a heavy sleeper, huh? At least I won't jostle you awake.”

Clay grabbed his phone from the armrest and checked the time. It was almost midnight. He was well-accustomed to staying up late, but George was usually fast asleep by 11. Clay chuckled to himself and started to get to his feet.

“No. You're warm.”

Clay froze. George had lifted a hand and was blearily holding onto his shirt – and, in the time that Clay had hesitated, George had also thrown his legs over Clay's.

Basically, Clay was trapped, and his heart rate was picking up.

“George?” Clay asked slowly. “Don't you want to move?”

“I'm comfortable here,” was the petulant response.

Clay took a steadying breath, then shifted to look at his best friend more directly. Illuminated by the blue light from the tv, George looked even paler than usual, and his face was half-hidden by the blanket. But he was still beautiful. Clay _needed to_ get up. He'd already decided that he wouldn't let his feelings get in the way of their friendship, but George was making that pretty damn hard.

“George, you need to go to bed,” Clay repeated, a little more forcefully.

George lifted his head, and Clay suddenly found himself staring into dark, chocolate eyes. His breath caught in his throat. Christ, this was so much harder than he'd thought it'd be.

“You fell asleep on me yesterday,” George said. His voice was thick with sleep, and Clay's heart rate sped up even further. “It's my turn.”

Wait. Oh, fuck, no, that meant George remembered what Clay had done. George remembered Clay's confession, and he remembered Clay kissing him on the jaw-

And he was still around.

George hadn't left the second he'd woken up. Why hadn't he left? Did... _No_. George must have thought that that was how Clay showed affection. It was platonic. _They_ were platonic. Clay had been trying to hammer that into his head for a whole week, and it was time for him to live it. Even though it felt like Clay was driving a stake through his own heart.

“George, get up,” Clay rasped. His voice was ragged, but he didn't care anymore. He just needed to go to bed before he made a horrible mistake. “Please...”

For a long moment, nothing happened. All Clay could hear was his shaky breathing, Patches' quiet purrs, and his heartbeat in his ears. Then, slowly, George sat up. He looked at Clay with sleepy eyes, but they were bright with awareness.

_Oh, god, no, he's awake now._

“Clay, what's wrong?” George asked. His voice was the only sound in the silence of the apartment. “You've been on edge all week. What's going on?”

_What do I say? I can't make up a story to get out of this one._

Clay hesitated. “I'm... I'm worried that I'll hurt you, George,” he murmured. “Just worried.”

Silence hung over them for a long time. Panic crept into Clay's throat, and the all-too-familiar dark spiral plucked at his mind. Where was this going? Clay was stumbling in the dark, and he felt like he was walking into a battlefield, completely blind.

Then, suddenly, George rested a hand on Clay's arm. “I'm not fragile, Clay,” the Brit said. “It's not like you're going to break me. I trust you. You won't hurt me.”

“I've hurt you before,” Clay corrected heavily.

George shrugged absently, and part of his blanket fell off his shoulder. “But you've never _tried_ to hurt me, and I think that's what counts.” George rested his head against Clay's shoulder and let out a sleepy huff. “Clay, you're a good person. You're human, so you're going to hurt me sometimes. I'm going to hurt you, too. But you're my best friend, and I trust you.”

Tears clouded Clay's eyes. He inhaled shakily, trying to keep his body from shaking and alerting George to his silent sobs. “You're too good for me, George,” he whispered.

“No. We're good enough for each other.”

Clay stared up at the tv. Finally, he worked up the energy to reach forward and grab the remote. He carefully turned off the tv, and the living room was plunged into darkness. Only the faint light from the street outside kept it from being completely black.

How did Clay get so lucky? His shoulders still shuddered, and his chest felt a few sizes too small. But George's words flew through his heart like an angel's saving song. Even if Clay destroyed everything, maybe George would forgive him. He'd do his absolute goddamn best to keep it together, but if things fell apart... maybe they would still be okay.

“Thank you, George,” Clay murmured. “You mean the world to me.”

Clay felt George smile against his shoulder. “You're welcome. You mean the world to me, too, you sap.”

Clay chuckled softly, and he wiped away his tears with the back of his hand. Slowly, he wrapped his free arm around George's back, and the Brit curled into him even more. Clay rested his nose in George's hair and closed his eyes.

Why couldn't he have this forever? He'd found his one in a million, but one day, he'd have to give it up. Why did _he_ have to be the one to give it up? Why couldn't it be someone else?

“I love you,” Clay whispered. He barely even breathed the words, and he knew that George couldn't have heard him. But it eased the gaping hole in his chest.

“What?”

George's voice was almost indecipherable with sleep.

“Nothing,” Clay said softly. “Go to sleep, George. Don't worry about it.”

It was selfish to keep George for the night. But it made Clay feel like he had a chance. Clay pressed a kiss into George's hair and pulled George closer to his chest, his heart aching at George's sleepy mumble.

 _I love you so much. I wish I could tell you that_.

Tears slid down Clay's cheeks.

 _I love you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you feel so inclined, please drop a comment and let me know that you enjoyed the chapter! :D
> 
> And now, for those of you who care about my posting schedule: Yes, I know it's very chaotic. However, I only post chapters when I'm really, really happy with them. This results in me taking long breaks so that I can produce the best quality work possible. If y'all want constant updates, I recommend checking out my other fic, Inferno in the Sky! (Yes, yes, this is shameless self-promotion lol) But for now, this fic is updated whenever I'm inspired. 
> 
> If you want a very broad frame of reference, you can expect an update every month :)
> 
> Have a great November!


	7. An Author's Note

Hello, dear readers! It’s been a hot minute, huh?

Before I get into this non-chapter, I’d like to thank every single one of you for the incredible amount of support I’ve received on this story. 1.6k kudos, almost 250 comments, and close to 30k hits. That is so, _so_ unbelievable, and I never imagined that this little passion project of mine would ever receive so much attention. Even though I haven’t posted anything in months, please know that I’ve seen all the praise you’ve lavished over this story. Y’all mean the world to me ❤️

Now, the future of the story. I’m making this note to tell you that, believe it or not, this story is not abandoned! The reason I stopped writing was twofold: first, another story of mine took over all my free time; second, I struggled with the concept of the story as a whole. I'm telling you this because:

Eventually, I plan to revamp this story and finish it! God knows when that will be, but I can guarantee that you’ll see me before 2022 lol. Most likely, I’ll return sometime in the summer with slightly shorter chapters and chapters 1-6 shiny and new! 

I do greatly apologize for my absence. I never intended to be gone for so long, but I believe this hiatus will make this story better!

If you want to read more of my work before this story's renovation, consider checking out the other stories I’ve done (yes, this is shameless self-promotion lol). Inferno in the Sky is an MCYT in Star Wars AU (also known as the beast that took over my life), and I plan to release the first three parts of a Sleepy Boys family!AU miniseries this weekend. 

Upon my return, I'll delete this note and publish the true chapter 7 in its place. That's when you'll know that this story is really back lol. 

Again, thank you all for the love you’ve given this story. Until we meet again!

~Zairielon

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Criticism/comments/compliments are all greatly appreciated!


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